BQQQOQQQOei 


Books  Exchanged  6  c  I 
HOI  MFS  Rnni/  rn 


• 


ARTHUR  MERVYN; 


OR, 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE  YEAR  1793 


RY 

CHARLES   BROCKDEN    BROWN. 


"  Fielding,  Richardson,  and  Scott  occupied  pedestals.     In  a  niche  was 
deposited  the  bust  of  our  countryman,  the  author  of  '  Arthur  Mervyn.'  " 

NATHANIKI.  HAWTHORNE. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

DAVID   McKAY,    PUBLISHER, 

23  SOUTH  NINTH  STREET. 

1889. 


Annex 


THE  evils  of  pestilence  by  which  this  city  has  lately  been 
afflicted  will  probably  form  an  era  in  its  history.  The 
schemes  of  reformation  and  improvement  to  which  they  will 
give  birth,  or,  if  no  efforts  of  human  wisdom  can  avail  to 
avert  the  periodical  visitations  of  this  calamity,  the  change 
in  manners  and  population  which  they  will  produce,  will  be, 
in  the  highest  degree,  memorable.  They  have  already  sup 
plied  new  and  copious  materials  for  reflection  to  the  physician 
and  the  political  economist.  They  have  not  been  less  fertile 
of  instruction  to  the  moral  observer,  to  whom  they  have  fur 
nished  new  displays  of  the  influence  of  human  passions  and 
motives. 

Amidst  the  medical  and  political  discussions  which  are 
now  afloat  in  the  community  relative  to  this  topic,  the  author 
of  these  remarks  has  ventured  to  methodize  his  own  reflec 
tions,  and  to  weave  into  an  humble  narrative  such  incidents 
as  appeared  to  him  most  instructive  and  remarkable  among 
those  which  came  within  the  sphere  of  his  own  observation. 
It  is  every  one's  duty  to  profit  by  all  opportunities  of  incul 
cating  on  mankind  the  lessons  of  justice  and  humanity.  The 
influences  of  hope  and  fear,  the  trials  of  fortitude  and  con- 


4  PREFACE. 

stancy,  which  took  place  in  this  city  in  the  autumn  of  1793, 
have,  perhaps,  never  been  exceeded  in  any  age.  It  is  but 
just  to  snatch  some  of  these  from  oblivion,  and  to  deliver  to 
posterity  a  brief  but  faithful  sketch  of  the  condition  of  this 
metropolis  during  that  calamitous  period.  Men  only  require 
to  be  made  acquainted  with  distress  for  their  compassion  and 
their  charity  to  be  awakened.  He  that  depicts,  in  lively 
colours,  the  evils  of  disease  and  poverty,  performs  an  eminent 
service  to  the  sufferers,  by  calling  forth  benevolence  in  those 
•who  are  able  to  afford  relief;  and  he  who  portrays  examples 
of  disinterestedness  and  intrepidity  confers  on  virtue  the 
notoriety  and  homage  that  are  due  to  it,  and  rouses  in  the 
spectators  the  spirit  of  salutary  emulation. 

In  the  following  tale  a  particular  series  of  adventures  is 
brought  to  a  close;  but  these  are  necessarily  connected  with 
the  events  which  happened  subsequent  to  the  period  here 
described.  These  events  are  not  less  memorable  than  those 
which  form  the  subject  of  the  present  volume,  and  may  here 
after  be  published,  either  separately  or  in  addition  to  this. 

C.  B.  B. 


ARTHUR  MERVYN. 


CHAPTER   I. 

I  WAS  resident  in  this  city  during  the  year  1793. 
Many  motives  contributed  to  detain  me,  though  depart 
ure  was  easy  and  commodious,  and  my  friends  were 
generally  solicitous  for  me  to  go.  It  is  not  my  purpose 
to  enumerate  these  motives,  or  to  dwell  on  my  present 
concerns  and  transactions,  but  merely  to  compose  a  nar 
rative  of  some  incidents  with  which  my  situation  made 
me  acquainted. 

Returning  one  evening,  somewhat  later  than  usual,  to 
my  own  house,  my  attention  was  attracted,  just  as  I  en 
tered  the  porch,  by  the  figure  of  a  man  reclining  against 
the  wall  at  a  few  paces  distant.  My  sight  was  imper 
fectly  assisted  by  a  far-off  lamp ;  but  the  posture  in 
which  he  sat,  the  hour,  and  the  place,  immediately  sug 
gested  the  idea  of  one  disabled  by  sickness.  It  was 
obvious  to  conclude  that  his  disease  was  pestilential. 
This  did  not  deter  me  from  approaching  and  examining 
him  more  closely. 

He  leaned  his  head  against  the  wall ;  his  eyes  were 
shut,  his  hands  clasped  in  each  other,  and  his  body 
seemed  to  be  sustained  in  an  upright  position  merely  by 
the  cellar-door  against  which  he  rested  his  left  shoulder. 
The  lethargy  into  which  he  was  sunk  seemed  scarcely 
interrupted  by  my  feeling  his  hand  and  his  forehead. 
His  throbbing  temples  and  burning  skin  indicated  a 
fever,  and  his  form,  already  emaciated,  seemed  to  prove 
that  it  had  not  been  of  short  duration. 

There  was  only  one  circumstance  that  hindered  me 
from  forming  an  immediate  determination  in  what  man- 

5 


6  ARTHUR  AfERVYN;    OK, 

ner  this  person  should  be  treated.  My  family  consisted 
of  my  wife  arid  a  young  child.  Our  servant-maid  had 
been  seized,  three  days  before,  by  the  reigning  malady, 
and,  at  her  own  request,  had  been  conveyed  to  the  hos 
pital.  We  ourselves  enjoyed  good  health,  and  were  hope 
ful  of  escaping  with  our  lives.  Our  measures  for  this 
end  had  been  cautiously  taken  and  carefully  adhered  to. 
They  did  not  consist  in  avoiding  the  receptacles  of  infec 
tion,  for  my  office  required  me  to  go  daily  into  the  midst 
of  them ;  nor  in  filling  the  house  with  the  exhalations  of 
gunpowder,  vinegar,  or  tar.  They  consisted  in  cleanli 
ness,  reasonable  exercise,  and  wholesome  diet.  Custom 
had  likewise  blunted  the  edge  of  our  apprehensions.  To 
take  this  person  into  my  house,  and  bestow  upon  him 
the  requisite  attendance,  was  the  scheme  that  first  oc 
curred  to  me.  In  this,  however,  the  advice  of  my  wife 
was  to  govern  me. 

I  mentioned  the  incident  to  her.  I  pointed  out  the 
danger  which  was  to  be  dreaded  from  such  an  inmate. 
I  desired  her  to  decide  with  caution,  and  mentioned  my 
resolution  to  conform  myself  implicitly  to  her  decision. 
Should  we  refuse  to  harbour  him,  we  must  not  forget 
that  there  was  a  hospital  to  which  he  would,  perhaps, 
consent  to  be  carried,  and  where  he  would  be  accommo 
dated  in  the  best  manner  the  times  would  admit. 

"Nay,"  said  she,  "talk  not  of  hospitals.  At  least, 
let  him  have  his  choice.  I  have  no  fear  about  me,  for 
my  part,  in  a  case  where  the  injunctions  of  duty  are  so 
obvious.  Let  us  take  the  poor,  unfortunate  wretch  into 
our  protection  and  care,  and  leave  the  consequences  to 
Heaven." 

I  expected  and  was  pleased  with  this  proposal.  I  re 
turned  to  the  sick  man,  and,  on  rousing  him  from  his 
stupor,  found  him  still  in  possession  of  his  reason.  With 
a  candle  near,  I  had  an  opportunity  of  viewing  him  more 
accurately. 

His  garb  was  plain,  careless,  and  denoted  rusticity. 
His  aspect  was  simple  and  ingenuous,  and  his  decayed 
visage  still  retained  traces  of  uncommon  but  manlike 
beauty.  He  had  all  the  appearances  of  mere  youth,  un 
spoiled  by  luxury  and  uninured  to  misfortune.  I  scarcely 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR   /7?J.  7 

ever  beheld  an  object  which  laid  so  powerful  and  sudden 
a  claim  to  my  affection  and  succour. 

"  You  are  sick,"  said  I,  in  as  cheerful  a  tone  as  I  could 
assume.  "  Cold  bricks  and  night-airs  are  comfortless 
attendants  for  one  in  your  condition.  Rise,  I  pray  you, 
and  come  into  the  house.  We  will  try  to  supply  you 
with  accommodations  a  little  more  suitable." 

At  this  address  he  fixed  his  languid  eyes  upon  me. 
"  What  would  you  have  ?"  said  he.  '*  I  am  very  well  as 
I  am.  While  I  breathe,  which  will  not  be  long,  I  shall 
breathe  with  more  freedom  here  than  elsewhere.  Let 
me  alone — I  am  very  well  as  I  am." 

"Nay,"  said  I,  "this  situation  is  unsuitable  to  a  sick 
man.  I  only  ask  you  to  come  into  my  house,  and  re 
ceive  all  the  kindness  that  it  is  in  our  power  to  bestow. 
Pluck  up  courage,  and  I  will  answer  for  your  recovery, 
provided  you  submit  to  directions,  and  do  as  we  would 
have  you.  Rise,  and  come  along  with  me.  We  will 
find  you  a  physician  and  a  nurse,  and  all  we  ask  in 
return  is  good  spirits  and  compliance." 

"  Do  you  not  know,"  he  replied,  "what  my  disease  is? 
Why  should  you  risk  your  safety  for  the  sake  of  one 
whom  your  kindness  cannot  benefit,  and  who  has  nothing 
to  give  in  return?" 

There  was  something  in  the  style  of  this  remark,  that 
heightened  my  prepossession  in  his  favour,  and  made  me 
pursue  my  purpose  with  more  zeal.  "  Let  us  try  what 
we  can  do  for  you,"  I  answered.  "  If  we  save  your  life, 
we  shall  have  done  you  some  service,  and,  as  for  recom 
pense,  we  will  look  to  that." 

It  was  with  considerable  difficulty  that  he  was  per 
suaded  to  accept  our  invitation.  lie  was  conducted  to  a 
chamber,  and,  the  criticalness  of  his  case  requiring  un 
usual  attention,  I  spent  the  night  at  his  bedside. 

My  wife  was  encumbered  with  the  care  both  of  her 
infant  and  her  family.  The  charming  babe  was  in  per 
fect  health,  but  her  mother's  constitution  was  frail  and 
delicate.  We  simplified  the  household  duties  as  much 
as  possible,  but  still  these  duties  were  considerably  bur 
densome  to  one  not  used  to  the  performance,  and  luxu 
riously  educated.  The  addition  of  a  sick  man  was  likely 


8  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

to  be  productive  of  much  fatigue.  My  engagements 
would  not  allow  me  to  be  always  at  home,  and  the  state 
of  my  patient,  and  the  remedies  necessary  to  be  pre 
scribed,  were  attended  with  many  noxious  and  disgustful 
circumstances.  My  fortune  would  not  allow  me  to  hire 
assistance.  My  wife,  with  a  feeble  frame  and  a  mind 
shrinking,  on  ordinary  occasions,  from  such  offices,  with 
fastidious  scrupulousness,  was  to  be  his  only  or  principal 
nurse. 

My  neighbours  were  fervent  in  their  well-meant  zeal, 
and  loud  in  their  remonstrances  on  the  imprudence  and 
rashness  of  my  conduct.  They  called  me  presumptuous 
and  cruel  in  exposing  my  wife  and  child,  as  well  as  my 
self,  to  such  imminent  hazard,  for  the  sake  of  one,  too, 
who  most  probably  was  worthless,  and  whose  disease  had 
doubtless  been,  by  negligence  or  mistreatment,  rendered 
incurable. 

I  did  not  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  these  censurers.  I  was 
aware  of  all  the  inconveniences  and  perils  to  which  I 
thus  spontaneously  exposed  myself.  No  one  knew  better 
the  value  of  that  woman  whom  I  called  mine,  or  set  a 
higher  price  upon  her  life,  her  health,  and  her  ease. 
The  virulence  and  activity  of  this  contagion,  the  dan 
gerous  condition  of  my  patient,  and  the  dubiousness  of 
his  character,  were  not  forgotten  by  me ;  but  still  my 
conduct  in  this  affair  received  my  own  entire  approba 
tion.  All  objections  on  the  score  of  my  friends  were 
removed  by  her  own  willingness  and  even  solicitude  to 
undertake  the  province.  1  had  more  confidence  than 
others  in  the  vincibility  of  this  disease,  and  in  the  suc 
cess  of  those  measures  which  we  had  used  for  our  defence 
against  it.  But,  whatever  were  the  evils  to  accrue  to  us, 
we  were  sure  of  one  thing :  namely,  that  the  conscious 
ness  of  having  neglected  this  unfortunate  person  would 
be  a  source  of  more  unhappincss  than  could  possibly  re 
dound  from  the  attendance  and  care  that  he  would  claim. 

The  more  we  saw  of  him,  indeed,  the  more  did  we 
congratulate  ourselves  on  our  proceeding.  His  torments 
were  acute  and  tedious  ;  but,  in  the  midst  even  of  deli 
rium,  his  heart  seemed  to  overflow  with  gratitude,  and  to 
be  actuated  by  no  wish  but  to  alleviate  our  toil  and  our 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  9 

danger.  He  made  prodigious  exertions  to  perform  ne 
cessary  offices  for  himself.  He  suppressed  his  feelings 
and  struggled  to  maintain  a  cheerful  tone  and  counte 
nance,  that  he  might  prevent  that  anxiety  which  the 
sight  of  his  sufferings  produced  in  us.  He  was  per 
petually  furnishing  reasons  why  his  nurse  should  leave 
him  alone,  and  betrayed  dissatisfaction  whenever  she 
entered  his  apartment. 

In  a  few  days,  there  were  reasons  to  conclude  him  out 
of  danger;  and,  in  a  fortnight,  nothing  but  exercise  and 
nourishment  were  wanting  to  complete  his  restoration. 
Meanwhile  nothing  was  obtained  from  him  but  general 
information,  that  his  place  of  abode  was  Chester  county, 
and  that  some  momentous  engagement  induced  him  to 
hazard  his  safety  by  coming  to  the  city  in  the  height  of 
the  epidemic. 

He  was  far  from  being  talkative.  His  silence  seemed 
to  be  the  joint  result  of  modesty  and  unpleasing  re 
membrances.  His  features  were  characterized  by  pathetic 
seriousness,  and  his  deportment  by  a  gravity  very  un 
usual  at  his  age.  According  to  his  own  representation, 
he  was  no  more  than  eighteen  years  old,  but  the  depth 
of  his  remarks  indicated  a  much  greater  advance.  His 
name  was  Arthur  Mervyn.  lie  described  himself  as 
having  passed  his  life  at  the  plough-tail  and  the  threshing- 
floor  ;  as  being  destitute  of  all  scholastic  instruction ;  and 
as  being  long  since  bereft  of  the  affectionate  regards  of 
parents  and  kinsmen. 

When  questioned  as  to  the  course  of  life  which  he 
meant  to  pursue  upon  his  recovery,  he  professed  himself 
without  any  precise  object.  He  was  willing  to  be 
guided  by  the  advice  of  others,  and  by  the  lights  which 
experience  should  furnish.  The  country  was  open  to 
him,  and  he  supposed  that  there  was  no  part  of  it  in 
which  food  could  not  be  purchased  by  his  labour.  He 
was  unqualified,  by  his  education,  for  any  liberal  pro 
fession.  His  poverty  was  likewise  an  insuperable  im 
pediment.  He  could  afford  to  spend  no  time  in  the 
acquisition  of  a  trade.  He  must  labour,  not  for  future 
emolument,  but  for  immediate  subsistence.  The  only 
pursuit  which  his  present  circumstances  would  allow  hiui 


IO  ARTHUR   MERVYX;    OR, 

to  adopt  was  that  which,  he  was  inclined  to  believe,  was 
likewise  the  most  eligible.  Without  doubt  his  experience 
was  slrinlrr.  ami  it  M>emed  absurd  to  pronounce  concern 
ing  that  of  which  he  had  no  direct  knowledge;  but  so  it 
was,  he  could  not  outroot  from  his  mind  the  persuasion 
that  to  plough,  to  sow,  and  to  reap,  were  employments 
most  befitting  a  reasonable  creature,  and  from  which 
the  truest  pleasure  and  the  least  pollution  would  flow. 
He  contemplated  no  other  scheme  than  to  return,  as  soon 
as  his  health  should  permit,  into  the  country,  seek 
employment  where  it  was  to  be  had,  and  acquit  himself 
in  his  engagements  with  fidelity  and  diligence. 

I  pointed  out  to  him  various  ways  in  which  the  city 
might  furnish  employment  to  one  with  his  qualifications. 
He  had  said  that  he  was  somewhat  accustomed  to  the 
pen.  There  were  stations  in  which  the  possession  of  a 
legible  hand  was  all  that  was  requisite.  He  might  add 
to  this  a  knowledge  of  accounts,  and  thereby  procure 
himself  a  post  in  some  mercantile  or  public  office. 

To  this  he  objected,  that  experience  had  shown  him 
unfit  for  the  life  of  a  penman.  This  had  been  his  chief 
occupation  for  a  little  while,  and  he  found  it  wholly  in 
compatible  with  his  health.  He  must  not  sacrifice  the 
end  for  the  means.  Starving  was  a  disease  preferable  to 
consumption.  Besides,  he  laboured  merely  for  the  sake 
of  living,  and  he  lived  merely  for  the  sake  of  pleasure. 
If  his  tasks  should  enable  him  to  live,  but,  at  the  same 
time,  bereave  him  of  all  satisfaction,  they  inflicted 
injury,  and  were  to  be  shunned  as  worse  evils  than  death. 

I  asked  to  what  species  of  pleasure  he  alluded,  with 
which  the  business  of  a  clerk  was  inconsistent. 

He  answered  that  he  scarcely  knew  how  to  describe  it. 
He  read  books  when  they  came  in  his  way.  He  had 
lighted  upon  few,  and,  perhaps,  the  pleasure  they  afforded 
him  was  owing  to  their  fewness;  yet  he  confessed  that  a 
mode  of  life  which  entirely  forbade  him  to  read  was  by 
no  means  to  his  taste.  But  this  was  trivial.  He  knew 
how  to  value  the  thoughts  of  other  people,  but  he  could 
not  part  with  the  privilege  of  observing  and  thinking  for 
himself.  He  wanted  business  which  would  suffer  at  least 
nine-tenths  of  his  attention  to  go  free.  If  it  afforded 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  II 

agreeable  employment  to  that  part  of  his  attention  winch 
it  applied  to  its  own  use,  so  much  the  better;  but,  if  it 
did  not,  he  should  not  repine.  He  should  be  content 
with  a  life  whose  pleasures  were  to  its  pains  as  nine  are 
to  one.  He  had  tried  the  trade  of  a  copyist,  and  in  cir 
cumstances  more  favourable  than  it  was  likely  he  should 
ever  again  have  an  opportunity  of  trying  it,  and  he  had 
found  that  it  did  not  fulfil  the  requisite  conditions. 
Whereas  the  trade  of  ploughman  was  friendly  to  health, 
liberty,  and  pleasure. 

The  pestilence,  if  it  may  so  be  called,  was  now  de 
clining.  The  health  of  my  young  friend  allowed  him  to 
breathe  the  fresh  air  and  to  walk.  A  friend  of  mine,  by 
name  Wortley,  who  had  spent  two  months  from  the  city, 
and  to  whom,  in  the  course  of  a  familiar  correspondence, 
I  had  mentioned  the  foregoing  particulars,  returned  from 
his  rural  excursion.  He  was  posting,  on  the  evening  of 
the  day  of  his  arrival,  with  a  friendly  expedition,  to  my 
house,  when  he  overtook  Mervyn  going  in  the  same  direc 
tion.  He  was  surprised  to  find  him  go  before  him  into 
my  dwelling,  and  to  discover,  which  he  speedily  did, 
that  this  was  the  youth  whom  I  had  so  frequently  men 
tioned  to  him.  I  was  present  at  their  meeting. 

There  was  a  strange  mixture  in  the  countenance  of 
Wortley  when  they  were  presented  to  each  other.  His 
satisfaction  was  mingled  with  surprise,  and  his  surprise 
with  anger.  Mervyn,  in  his  turn,  betrayed  considerable 
embarrassment.  Wortley's  thoughts  were  too  earnest  on 
some  topic  to  allow  him  to  converse.  He  shortly  made 
some  excuse  for  taking  leave,  and,  rising,  addressed  him 
self  to  the  youth  with  a  request  that  he  would  walk 
home  with  him.  This  invitation,  delivered  in  a  tone 
which  left  it  doubtful  whether  a  compliment  or  menace 
were  meant,  augmented  Mervyn's  confusion.  He  com 
plied  without  speaking,  and  they  went  out  together; — my 
wife  and  I  were  left  to  comment  upon  the  scene. 

It  could  not  fail  to  excite  uneasiness.  They  were  evi 
dently  no  strangers  to  each  other.  The  indignation  that 
flashed  from  the  eyes  of  Wortley,  and  the  trembling  con 
sciousness  of  Mervyn,  were  unwelcome  tokens.  The 
former  was  my  dearest  friend,  and  venerable  for  his  dis- 


12  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

cernment  and  integrity.  The  latter  appeared  to  have 
drawn  upon  himself  the  anger  and  disdain  of  this  man. 
We  already  anticipated  the  shock  which  the  discovery  of 
his  unworthincss  would  produce. 

In  a  half-hour  Mcrvyn  returned.  His  embarrassment 
had  given  place  to  dejection.  He  was  always  serious, 
but  his  features  were  now  overcast  by  the  deepest  gloom. 
The  anxiety  which  I  felt  would  not  allow  me  to  hesitate 
long. 

"Arthur,"  said  I,  "something  is  the  matter  with  you. 
Will  you  not  disclose  it  to  us?  Perhaps  you  have 
brought  yourself  into  some  dilemma  out  of  which  we  may 
help  you  to  escape.  Has  any  thing  of  an  unpleasant 
nature  passed  between  you  and  Wortlcy?" 

The  youth  did  not  readily  answer.  He  seemed  at  a 
loss  for  a  suitable  reply.  At  length  he  said  that  some 
thing  disagreeable  had  indeed  passed  between  him  and 
Wortley.  He  had  had  the  misfortune  to  be  connected 
with  a  man  by  whom  Wortley  conceived  himself  to  be 
injured.  He  had  borne  no  part  in  inflicting  this  injury, 
but  had  nevertheless  been  threatened  with  ill  treatment 
if  he  did  not  make  disclosures  Avhich,  indeed,  it  was  in 
his  power  to  make,  but  which  he  was  bound,  by  every 
sanction,  to  withhold.  This  disclosure  would  be  of  no 
benefit  to  Wortley.  It  would  rather  operate  injuriously 
than  otherwise ;  yet  it  was  endeavoured  to  be  wrested 
from  him  by  the  heaviest  menaces.  There  he  paused. 

We  were  naturally  inquisitive  as  to  the  scope  of  these 
menaces;  but  Mervyn  entreated  us  to  forbear  any  further 
discussion  of  this  topic.  He  foresaw  the  difficulties  to 
which  his  silence  would  subject  him.  One  of  its  most 
fearful  consequences  would  be  the  loss  of  our  good 
opinion.  He  knew  not  what  he  had  to  dread  from  the 
enmity  of  Wortley.  Mr.  Wortley 's  violence  was  not 
without  excuse.  It  was  his  mishap  to  be  exposed  to 
suspicions  which  could  only  be  obviated  by  breaking  his 
faith.  But,  indeed,  he  knew  not  whether  any  degree  of 
explicitness  would  confute  the  charges  that  were  made 
against  him ;  whether,  by  trampling  on  his  sacred  pro 
mise,  he  should  not  multiply  his  perils  instead  of  lessen 
ing  their  number.  A  difficult  part  had  been  assigned  to 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  13 

him ;  by  much  too  difficult  for  one  young,  improvident, 
and  inexperienced  as  he  was. 

Sincerity,  perhaps,  was  the  best  course.  Perhaps, 
after  having  had  an  opportunity  for  deliberation,  he 
should  conclude  to  adopt  it ;  meanwhile  he  entreated  per 
mission  to  retire  to  his  chamber.  He  was  unable  to  ex 
clude  from  his  mind  ideas  which  yet  could,  with  no  pro 
priety,  at  least  at  present,  be  made  the  theme  of  con 
versation. 

These  words  were  accompanied  with  simplicity  and 
pathos,  and  with  tokens  of  unaffected  distress. 

"Arthur,"  said  I,  "you  are  master  of  your  actions 
and  time  in  this  house.  Retire  when  you  please ;  but 
you  will  naturally  suppose  us  anxious  to  dispel  this  mys 
tery.  Whatever  shall  tend  to  obscure  or  malign  your 
character  will  of  course  excite  our  solicitude.  Wortley 
is  not  short-sighted  or  hasty  to  condemn.  So  great  ia 
my  confidence  in  his  integrity  that  I  will  not  promise  my 
esteem  to  one  who  has  irrecoverably  lost  that  of  Wort- 
ley.  I  am  not  acquainted  with  your  motives  to  conceal 
ment,  or  what  it  is  you  conceal ;  but  take  the  word  of 
one  who  possesses  that  experience  which  you  complain  of 
wanting,  that  sincerity  is  always  safest." 

As  soon  as  he  had  retired,  my  curiosity  prompted  me 
to  pay  an  immediate  visit  to  Wortley.  I  found  him  at 
home.  He  was  no  less  desirous  of  an  interview,  and 
answered  my  inquiries  with  as  much  eagerness  as  they 
were  made. 

"You  know,"  said  he,  "my  disastrous  connection  with 
Thomas  Welbcck.  You  recollect  his  sudden  disappear 
ance  last  July,  by  which  I  was  reduced  to  the  brink  of 
ruin.  Nay,  I  am,  even  now,  far  from  certain  that  I 
shall  survive  that  event.  I  spoke  to  you  about  the  youth 
who  lived  with  him,  and  by  what  means  that  youth  was 
discovered  to  have  crossed  the  river  in  his  company  on 
the  night  of  his  departure.  This  is  that  very  youth. 

"This  will  account  for  my  emotion  at  meeting  him  at 
your  house  ;  I  brought  him  out  with  me.  His  confusion 
sufficiently  indicated  his  knowledge  of  transactions  be 
tween  Welbeck  and  me.  I  questioned  him  as  to  the 
fate  of  that  man.  To  own  the  truth,  I  expected  some 


14  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

well-digested  lie ;  but  he  merely  said  that  he  had  pro 
mised  secrecy  on  that  subject,  and  must  therefore  be 
excused  from  giving  me  any  information.  I  asked  him 
if  lie  knew  that  his  master,  or  accomplice,  or  whatever 
was  his  relation  to  him,  absconded  in  my  debt  ?  He 
answered  that  he  knew  it  well ;  but  still  pleaded  a  pro 
mise  of  inviolable  secrecy  as  to  his  hiding-place.  This 
conduct  justly  exasperated  me,  and  I  treated  him  with 
the  severity  which  he  deserved.  I  am  half  ashamed  to 
confess  the  excesses  of  my  passion ;  I  even  went  so  far 
as  to  strike  him.  He  bore  my  insults  with  the  utmost 
patience.  No  doubt  the  young  villain  is  well  instructed 
in  his  lesson.  He  knows  that  he  may  safely  defy  my 
power.  From  threats  I  descended  to  entreaties.  I  even 
endeavoured  to  wind  the  truth  from  him  by  artifice.  I 
promised  him  a  part  of  the  debt  if  he  would  enable  me 
to  recover  the  whole.  I  offered  him  a  considerable  re 
ward  if  he  would  merely  afford  me  a  clue  by  which  I 
might  trace  him  to  his  retreat ;  but  all  was  insufficient. 
He  merely  put  on  an  air  of  perplexity  and  shook  his 
head  in  token  of  non-compliance." 

Such  was  my  friend's  account  of  this  interview.  His 
suspicions  were  unquestionably  plausible ;  but  I  was  dis 
posed  to  put  a  more  favourable  construction  on  Mervyn's 
behaviour.  I  recollected  the  desolate  and  penniless  con 
dition  in  which  I  found  him,  and  the  uniform  compla 
cency  and  rectitude  of  his  deportment  for  the  period 
during  which  we  had  witnessed  it.  These  ideas  had  con 
siderable  influence  on  my  judgment,  and  indisposed  me 
to  follow  the  advice  of  my  friend,  which  was  to  turn  him 
forth  from  my  doors  that  very  night. 

My  wife's  prepossessions  were  still  more  powerful  ad 
vocates  of  this  youth.  She  would  vouch,  she  said,  before 
any  tribunal,  for  his  innocence ;  but  she  willingly  con 
curred  with  me  in  allowing  him  the  continuance  of  our 
friendship  on  no  other  condition  than  that  of  a  disclosure 
of  the  truth.  To  entitle  ourselves  to  this  confidence  we 
w«-re  willing  to  engage,  in  our  turn,  for  the  observance 
of  secrecy,  so  far  that  no  detriment  should  accrue  from 
this  disclosure  to  himself  or  his  friend. 

Next  morning,  at  breakfast,  our  guest  appeared  with 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  1$ 

a  countenance  less  expressive  of  embarrassment  than  on 
the  last  evening.  His  attention  was  chiefly  engaged  by 
his  own  thoughts,  and  little  was  said  till  the  breakfast 
was  removed.  I  then  reminded  him  of  the  incidents  of 
the  former  day,  and  mentioned  that  the  uneasiness  which 
thence  arose  to  us  had  rather  been  increased  than  dimi 
nished  by  time. 

"It  is  in  your  power,  my  young  friend,"  continued  I, 
"  to  add  still  more  to  this  uneasiness,  or  to  take  it  entirely 
away.  I  had  no  personal  acquaintance  with  Thomas  Wei- 
beck.  I  have  been  informed  by  others  that  his  charac 
ter,  for  a  certain  period,  was  respectable,  but  that,  at 
length,  he  contracted  large  debts,  and,  instead  of  paying 
them,  absconded.  You,  it  seems,  lived  with  him.  On 
the  night  of  his  departure  you  are  known  to  have  accom 
panied  him  across  the  river,  and  this,  it  seems,  is  the 
first  of  your  reappearance  on  the  stage.  Welbeck's  con 
duct  was  dishonest.  He  ought  doubtless  to  be  pursued 
to  his  asylum  and  be  compelled  to  refund  his  winnings. 
You  confess  yourself  to  know  his  place  of  refuge,  but 
urge  a  promise  of  secrecy.  Know  you  not  that  to  assist 
or  connive  at  the  escape  of  this  man  was  wrong  ?  To 
have  promised  to  favour  his  concealment  and  impunity 
by  silence  was  only  an  aggravation  of  this  wrong. 
That,  however,  is  past.  Your  youth,  and  circumstances, 
hitherto  unexplained,  may  apologize  for  that  miscon 
duct  ;  but  it  is  certainly  your  duty  to  repair  it  to  the 
utmost  of  your  power.  Think  whether,  by  disclosing 
what  you  know,  you  will  not  repair  it." 

"I  have  spent  most  of  last  night,"  said  the  youth, 
"  in  reflecting  on  this  subject.  I  had  come  to  a  resolu 
tion,  before  you  spoke,  of  confiding  to  you  my  simple 
tale.  I  perceive  in  what  circumstances  I  am  placed,  and 
that  I  can  keep  my  hold  of  your  good  opinion  only  by  a 
candid  deportment.  I  have  indeed  given  a  promise  which 
it  was  wrong,  or  rather  absurd,  in  another  to  exact,  and 
in  me  to  give  ;  yet  none  but  considerations  of  the  highest 
importance  would  persuade  me  to  break  my  promise. 
No  injury  will  accrue  from  my  disclosure  to  Welbeck. 
If  there  should,  dishonest  as  he  was,  that  would  be  a 
sufficient  reason  for  my  silence.  Wortley  will  not,  in 


1 6  ARTHUR   MERVYN. 

any  degree,  be  benefited  by  any  communication  that  I 
can  make.  Whether  I  grant  or  withhold  information, 
my  conduct  will  have  influence  only  on  my  own  happi 
ness,  and  that  influence  will  justify  me  in  granting  it. 

"  I  received  your  protection  when  I  was  friendless  and 
forlorn.  You  have  a  right  to  know  whom  it  is  that  you 
protected.  My  own  fate  is  connected  with  the  fate  of 
AVelbeck,  and  that  connection,  together  with  the  interest 
you  are  pleased  to  take  in  my  concerns,  because  they 
are  mine,  will  render  a  tale  worthy  of  attention  which 
will  not  be  recommended  by  variety  of  facts  or  skill  in 
the  display  of  them. 

"  Wortley,  though  passionate,  and,  with  regard  to  me, 
unjust,  may  yet  be  a  good  man ;  but  I  have  no  desire  to 
make  him  one  of  my  auditors.  You,  sir,  may,  if  you 
think  proper,  relate  to  him  afterwards  what  particulars 
concerning  Welbeck  it  may  be  of  importance  for  him  to 
know ;  but  at  present  it  will  be  well  if  your  indulgence 
shall  support  me  to  the  end  of  a  tedious  but  humble 
tale." 

The  eyes  of  my  Eliza  sparkled  with  delight  at  this 
proposal.  She  regarded  this  youth  with  a  sisterly  affec 
tion,  and  considered  his  candour,  in  this  respect,  as  an 
unerring  test  of  his  rectitude.  She  was  prepared  to 
hear  and  to  forgive  the  errors  of  inexperience  and  pre 
cipitation.  I  did  not  fully  participate  in  her  satisfac 
tion,  but  was  nevertheless  most  zealously  disposed  to 
listen  to  his  narrative. 

My  engagements  obliged  me  to  postpone  this  rehearsal 
till  late  in  the  evening.  Collected  then  round  a  cheer 
ful  hearth,  exempt  from  all  likelihood  of  interruption 
from  without,  and  our  babe's  unpractised  senses  shut  up 
in  the  sweetest  and  profoundest  sleep,  Mervyu,  after  a 
pause  of  recollection,  began. 


CHAPTER  II. 

MY  natal  soil  is  Chester  county.  My  father  had  a 
small  farm,  on  which  he  has  been  able,  by  industry,  to 
maintain  himself  and  a  numerous  family.  He  has  had 
many  children,  but  some  defect  in  the  constitution  of 
our  mother  has  been  fatal  to  all  of  them  but  me.  They 
died  successively  as  they  attained  the  age  of  nineteen  or 
twenty,  and,  since  I  have  not  yet  reached  that  age,  I  may 
reasonably  look  for  the  same  premature  fate.  In  the 
spring  of  last  year  my  mother  followed  her  fifth  child  to 
the  grave,  and  three  months  afterwards  died  herself. 

My  constitution  has  always  been  frail,  and,  till  the 
death  of  my  mother,  I  enjoyed  unlimited  indulgence.  I 
cheerfully  sustained  my  portion  of  labour,  for  that  neces 
sity  prescribed  ;  but  the  intervals  were  always  at  my  own 
disposal,  and,  in  whatever  manner  I  thought  proper  to 
employ  them,  my  plans  were  encouraged  and  assisted. 
Fond  appellations,  tones  of  mildness,  solicitous  attend 
ance  when  I  was  sick,  deference  to  my  opinions,  and 
veneration  for  my  talents,  compose  the  image  which  I 
still  retain  of  my  mother.  I  had  the  thoughtlessness 
and  presumption  of  youth,  and,  now  that  she  is  gone, 
my  compunction  is  awakened  by  a  thousand  recollections 
of  my  treatment  of  her.  I  was  indeed  guilty  of  no  fla 
grant  acts  of  contempt  or  rebellion.  Perhaps  her  de 
portment  was  inevitably  calculated  to  instil  into  me  a 
froward  and  refractory  spirit.  My  faults,  however,  were 
speedily  followed  by  repentance,  and,  in  the  midst  of 
impatience  and  passion,  a  look  of  tender  upbraiding 
from  her  was  always  sufficient  to  melt  me  into  tears  and 
make  me  ductile  to  her  will.  If  sorrow  for  her  loss  be 
an  atonement  for  the  offences  which  I  committed  during 
her  life,  ample  atonement  has  been  made. 

2  17 


1 8  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

My  father  is  a  man  of  slender  capacity,  but  of  a 
temper  easy  and  flexible.  He  was  sober  and  industrious 
by  habit.  He  was  content  to  be  guided  by  the  superior 
intelligence  of  his  wife.  Under  this  guidance  he  pros 
pered  ;  but,  when  that  was  withdrawn,  his  affairs  soon 
began  to  betray  marks  of  unskilfulness  and  negligence. 
My  understanding,  perhaps,  qualified  me  to  counsel  and 
assist  my  father,  but  I  was  wholly  unaccustomed  to  the 
task  of  superintendence.  Besides,  gentleness  and  forti 
tude  did  not  descend  to  me  from  my  mother,  and  these 
were  indispensable  attributes  in  a  boy  who  desires  to 
dictate  to  his  gray-headed  parent.  Time,  perhaps,  might 
have  conferred  dexterity  on  me,  or  prudence  on  him,  had 
not  a  most  unexpected  event  given  a  different  direction 
to  my  views. 

Betty  Lawrence  was  a  wild  girl  from  the  pine-forests 
of  New  Jersey.  At  the  age  of  ten  years  she  became  a 
bound  servant  in  this  city,  and,  after  the  expiration  of 
her  time,  came  into  my  father's  neighbourhood  in  search 
of  employment.  She  was  hired  in  our  family  as  milk 
maid  and  market-woman.  Her  features  were  coarse, 
her  frame  robust,  her  mind  totally  unlettered,  and  her 
morals  defective  in  that  point  in  which  female  excellence 
is  supposed  chiefly  to  consist.  She  possessed  super 
abundant  health  and  good-humour,  and  was  quite  a  sup 
portable  companion  in  the  hay-field  or  the  barnyard. 

On  the  death  of  my  mother,  she  was  exalted  to  a 
somewhat  higher  station.  The  same  tasks  fell  to  her 
lot ;  but  the  time  and  manner  of  performing  them  were, 
in  some  degree,  submitted  to  her  own  choice.  The  cows 
and  the  dairy  were  still  her  province ;  but  in  this  no  one 
interfered  with  her  or  pretended  to  prescribe  her  mea 
sures.  For  this  province  she  seemed  not  unqualified, 
and,  as  long  as  my  father  was  pleased  with  her  manage 
ment,  I  had  nothing  to  object. 

This  state  of  things  continued,  without  material  varia 
tion,  for  several  months.  There  were  appearances  in  my 
father's  deportment  to  Betty,  which  excited  my  reflec 
tions,  but  not  my  fears.  The  deference  which  was  occa 
sionally  paid  to  the  advice  or  the  claims  of  this  girl  was 
accounted  for  by  that  feebleness  of  mind  which  degraded 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  1 9 

my  father,  in  whatever  scene  he  should  be  placed,  to  be 
the  tool  of  others.  I  had  no  conception  that  her  claims 
extended  beyond  a  temporary  or  superficial  gratification. 

At  length,  however,  a  visible  change  took  place  in  her 
manners.  A  scornful  affectation  and  awkward  dignity 
began  to  be  assumed.  A  greater  attention  was  paid  to 
dress,  which  was  of  gayer  hues  and  more  fashionable 
texture.  I  rallied  her  on  these  tokens  of  a  sweetheart, 
and  amused  myself  with  expatiating  to  her  on  the 
qualifications  of  her  lover.  A  clownish  fellow  was  fre 
quently  her  visitant.  His  attentions  did  not  appear  to 
be  discouraged.  He  therefore  was  readily  supposed  to 
be  the  man.  When  pointed  out  as  the  favourite,  great 
resentment  was  expressed,  and  obscure  insinuations  were 
made  that  her  aim  was  not  quite  so  low  as  that.  These 
denials  I  supposed  to  be  customary  on  such  occasions, 
and  considered  the  continuance  of  his  visits  as  a  suffi 
cient  confutation  of  them. 

I  frequently  spoke  of  Betty,  her  newly-acquired  dig 
nity,  and  of  the  probable  cause  of  her  change  of  man 
ners,  to  my  father.  When  this  theme  was  started,  a  cer 
tain  coldness  and  reserve  overspread  his  features.  He 
dealt  in  monosyllables,  and  either  laboured  to  change  the 
subject  or  made  some  excuse  for  leaving  me.  This  be 
haviour,  though  it  occasioned  surprise,  was  never  very 
deeply  reflected  on.  My  father  was  old,  and  the  mourn 
ful  impressions  which  were  made  upon  him  by  the  death 
of  his  wife,  the  lapse  of  almost  half  a  year  seemed 
scarcely  to  have  weakened.  Betty  had  chosen  her 
partner,  and  I  was  in  daily  expectation  of  receiving  a 
summons  to  the  wedding. 

One  afternoon  this  girl  dressed  herself  in  the  gayest 
manner  and  seemed  'making  preparations  for  some  mo 
mentous  ceremony.  My  father  had  directed  me  to  put 
the  horse  to  the  chaise.  On  my  inquiring  whither  he 
was  going,  he  answered  me,  in  general  terms,  that  he  had 
some  business  at  a  few  miles'  distance.  I  offered  to  go 
in  his  stead,  but  he  said  that  was  impossible.  I  was 
proceeding  to  ascertain  the  possibility  of  this  when  he 
left  me  to  go  to  a  field  where  his  workmen  were  busy, 
directing  me  to  inform  him  when  the  chaise  was  ready, 


20  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

to  supply  his  place,  while  absent,  in  overlooking  the 
workmen. 

This  office  was  performed;  but  before  I  called  him 
from  the  field  I  exchanged  a  few  words  with  the  milk 
maid,  who  sat  on  a  bench,  in  all  the  primness  of  expecta 
tion,  and  decked  with  the  most  gaudy  plumage.  I  rated 
her  imaginary  lover  for  his  tardiness,  and  vowed  eternal 
hatred  to  them  both  for  not  making  me  a  bride's  attend 
ant.  She  listened  to  me  with  an  air  in  which  embarrass 
ment  was  mingled  sometimes  with  exultation  and  some 
times  with  malice.  I  left  her  at  length,  and  returned  to 
the  house  not  till  a  late  hour.  As  soon  as  I  entered,  my 
father  presented  Betty  to  me  as  his  wife,  and  desired 
she  might  receive  that  treatment  from  me  which  was  due 
to  a  mother. 

It  was  not  till  after  repeated  and  solemn  declarations 
from  both  of  them  that  I  was  prevailed  upon  to  credit 
this  event.  Its  effect  upon  my  feelings  may  be  easily 
conceived.  I  knew  the  woman  to  be  rude,  ignorant,  and 
licentious.  Had  I  suspected  this  event,  I  might  have 
fortified  my  father's  weakness  and  enabled  him  to  shun 
the  gulf  to  which  he  was  tending ;  but  my  presumption 
had  been  careless  of  the  danger.  To  think  that  such  a 
one  should  take  the  place  of  my  revered  mother  was 
intolerable. 

To  treat  her  in  any  way  not  squaring  with  her  real 
merits;  to  hinder  anger  and  scorn  from  rising  at  the 
sight  of  her  in  her  new  condition,  was  not  in  my  power. 
To  be  degraded  to  the  rank  of  her  servant,  to  become 
the  sport  of  her  malice  and  her  artifices,  was  not  to  be 
endured.  I  had  no  independent  provision ;  but  I  was  the 
only  child  of  my  father,  and  had  reasonably  hoped  to 
succeed  to  his  patrimony.  On  (his  hope  1  had  built  a 
thousand  agreeable  visions.  I  had  meditated  innume 
rable  projects  which  the  possession  of  this  estate  would 
enable  me  to  execute.  I  had  no  Avish  beyond  the  trade 
of  agriculture,  and  beyond  the  opulence  which  a  hundred 
acres  would  give. 

These  visions  were  now  at  an  end.  No  doubt  her 
own  interest  would  be,  to  this  woman,  the  supreme  law, 
and  this  would  be  considered  as  irreconcilably  hostile  to 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  21 

mine.  My  father  would  easily  be  moulded  to  her  pur 
pose,  and  that  act  easily  extorted  from  him  which  should 
reduce  me  to  beggary.  She  had  a  gross  and  perverse 
taste.  She  had  a  numerous  kindred,  indigent  and  hun- 

fry.  On  these  his  substance  would  speedily  be  lavished, 
le  she  hated,  because  she  was  conscious  of  having  in 
jured  me,  because  she  knew  that  I  held  her  in  contempt, 
and  because  I  had  detected  her  in  an  illicit  intercourse 
with  the  son  of  a  neighbour. 

The  house  in  which  I  lived  was  no  longer  my  own,  nor 
even  my  father's.  Hitherto  I  had  thought  and  acted  in 
it  with  the  freedom  of  a  master ;  but  now  I  was  become, 
in  my  own  conceptions,  an  alien  and  an  enemy  to  the 
roof  under  which  I  was  born.  Every  tie  which  had 
bound  me  to  it  was  dissolved  or  converted  into  something 
which  repelled  me  to  a  distance  from  it.  I  was  a  guest 
whose  presence  was  borne  with  anger  and  impatience. 

I  was  fully  impressed  with  the  necessity  of  removal, 
but  I  knew  not  whither  to  go,  or  what  kind  of  subsistence 
to  seek.  My  father  had  been  a  Scottish  emigrant,  and 
had  no  kindred  on  this  side  of  the  ocean.  My  mother's 
family  lived  in  New  Hampshire,  and  long  separation  had 
extinguished  all  the  rights  of  relationship  in  her  off 
spring.  Tilling  the  earth  was  my  only  profession,  and, 
to  profit  by  my  skill  in  it,  it  would  be  necessary  to  be 
come  a  day-labourer  in  the  service  of  strangers ;  but  this 
was  a  destiny  to  which  I,  who  had  so  long  enjoyed  the 
pleasures  of  independence  and  command,  could  not  sud 
denly  reconcile  myself.  It  occurred  to  me  that  the  city 
might  afford  me  an  asylum.  A  short  day's  journey 
Avould  transport  me  into  it.  I  had  been  there  twice  or 
thrice  in  my  life,  but  only  for  a  few  hours  each  time.  I 
knew  not  a  human  face,  and  was  a  stranger  to  its  modes 
and  dangers.  I  was  qualified  for  no  employment,  com 
patible  with  a  town  life,  but  that  of  the  pen.  This, 
indeed,  had  ever  been  a  favourite  tool  with  me ;  and, 
though  it  may  appear  somewhat  strange,  it  is  no  less 
true  that  I  had  had  nearly  as  much  practice  at  the  quill 
as  at  the  mattock.  But  the  sum  of  my  skill  lay  in 
tracing  distinct  characters.  I  had  used  it  merely  to  tran 
scribe  what  others  had  written,  or  to  give  form  to  my 


22  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

own  conceptions.  Whether  the  city  would  afford  me 
employment,  as  a  mere  copyist,  sufficiently  lucrative,  was 
a  point  on  which  I  possessed  no  means  of  information. 

My  determination  was  hastened  by  the  conduct  of  my 
new  mother.  My  conjectures  as  to  the  course  she  would 
pursue  with  regard  to  me  had  not  been  erroneous.  My 
father's  deportment,  in  a  short  time,  grew  sullen  and 
austere.  Directions  were  given  in  a  magisterial  tone, 
and  any  remissness  in  the  execution  of  his  orders  was  re 
buked  with  an  air  of  authority.  At  length  these  rebukes 
were  followed  by  certain  intimations  that  I  was  now  old 
enough  to  provide  for  myself;  that  it  was  time  to  think 
of  some  employment  by  which  I  might  secure  a  liveli 
hood  ;  that  it  was  a  shame  for  me  to  spend  my  youth  in 
idleness ;  that  what  he  had  gained  was  by  his  own  labour ; 
and  I  must  be  indebted  for  my  living  to  the  same  source. 

These  hints  were  easily  understood.  At  first,  they  ex 
cited  indignation  and  grief.  I  knew  the  source  whence 
they  sprung,  and  was  merely  able  to  suppress  the  utter 
ance  of  my  feelings  in  her  presence.  My  looks,  however, 
were  abundantly  significant,  and  my  company  became 
hourly  more  insupportable.  Abstracted  from  these  con 
siderations,  my  father's  remonstrances  were  not  destitute 
of  weight,  lie  gave  me  being,  but  sustenance  ought 
surely  to  be  my  own  gift.  In  the  use  of  that  for  which 
he  had  been  indebted  to  his  own  exertions,  he  might  rea 
sonably  consult  his  own  choice.  lie  assumed  no  control 
over  me ;  he  merely  did  what  he  would  with  his  own,  and, 
so  far  from  fettering  my  liberty,  he  exhorted  me  to  use 
it  for  my  own  benefit,  and  to  make  provision  for  myself. 

I  now  reflected  that  there  were  other  manual  occupa 
tions  besides  that  of  the  plough.  Among  these  none  had 
fewer  disadvantages  than  that  of  carpenter  or  cabinet 
maker.  I  had  no  knowledge  of  this  art ;  but  neither 
custom,  nor  law,  nor  the  impenetrablcness  of  the  mys 
tery,  required  me  to  serve  a  seven  years'  apprenticeship 
to  it.  A  master  in  this  trade  might  possibly  be  persuaded 
to  take  me  under  his  tuition  ;  two  or  three  years  would 
suffice  to  give  me  the  requisite  skill.  Meanwhile  my 
father  would,  perhaps,  consent  to  bear  the  cost  of  my 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR   1793.  2$ 

maintenance.  Nobody  could  live  upon  less  than  I  was 
•willing  to  do. 

I  mentioned  these  ideas  to  my  father ;  but  he  merely 
commended  my  intentions  without  ottering  to  assist  me 
in  the  execution  of  them,  lie  had  full  employment,  he 
said,  for  all  the  profits  of  his  ground.  No  doubt,  if  I 
would  bind  myself  to  serve  four  or  five  years,  my  master 
would  be  at  the  expense  of  my  subsistence.  Be  that  as 
it  would,  I  must  look  for  nothing  from  him.  I  had  shown 
very  little  regard  for  his  happiness ;  I  had  refused  all 
marks  of  respect  to  a  woman  who  was  entitled  to  it  from 
her  relation  to  him.  He  did  not  see  why  he  should  treat 
as  a  son  one  who  refused  what  was  due  to  him  as  a  father. 
He  thought  it  right  that  I  should  henceforth  maintain 
myself.  He  did  not  want  my  services  on  the  farm,  and 
the  sooner  I  quitted  his  house  the  better. 

I  retired  from  this  conference  with  a  resolution  to  fol 
low  the  advice  that  was  given.  I  saw  that  henceforth  I 
must  be  my  own  protector,  and  wondered  at  the  folly 
that  detained  me  so  long  under  his  roof.  To  leave  it 
was  now  become  indispensable,  and  there  could  be  no 
reason  for  delaying  my  departure  for  a  single  hour.  I 
determined  to  bend  my  course  to  the  city.  The  scheme 
foremost  in  my  mind  was  to  apprentice  myself  to  some 
mechanical  trade.  I  did  not  overlook  the  evils  of  con 
straint  and  the  dubiousness  as  to  the  character  of  the 
master  I  should  choose.  I  was  not  without  hopes  that 
accident  would  suggest  a  different  expedient,  and  enable 
me  to  procure  an  immediate  subsistence  without  forfeit 
ing  my  liberty. 

I  determined  to  commence  my  journey  the  next  morn 
ing.  No  wonder  the  prospect  of  so  considerable  a  change 
in  my  condition  should  deprive  me  of  sleep.  I  spent  the 
night  ruminating  on  the  future,  and  in  painting  to  my 
fancy  the  adventures  which  I  should  be  likely  to  meet. 
The  foresight  of  man  is  in  proportion  to  his  knowledge. 
No  wonder  that,  in  my  state  of  profound  ignorance,  not 
the  faintest  preconception  should  be  formed  of  the  events 
that  really  befell  me.  My  temper  was  inquisitive,  but 
there  was  nothing  in  the  scene  to  which  I  was  going 
from  which  my  curiosity  expected  to  derive  gratification. 


24  ARTHUR  MERVYN. 

Discords  and  evil  smells,  unsavoury  food,  unwholesome 
labour,  and  irksome  companions,  were,  in  my  opinion, 
the  unavoidable  attendants  of  a  city. 

My  best  clothes  were  of  the  homeliest  texture  and 
shape.  My  whole  stock  of  linen  consisted  of  three 
check  shirts.  Part  of  my  winter  evenings'  employment, 
since  the  death  of  my  mother,  consisted  in  knitting  my 
own  stockings.  Of  these  I  had  three  pair,  one  of  which 
I  put  on,  and  the  rest  I  formed,  together  with  two  shirts, 
into  a  bundle.  Three  quarter-dollar  pieces  composed 
my  whole  fortune  in  money. 


CHAPTER  III. 

I  ROSE  at  the  dawn,  and,  without  asking  or  bestowing 
a  blessing,  sallied  forth  into  the  highroad  to  the  city, 
which  passed  near  the  house.  I  left  nothing  behind,  the 
loss  of  which  I  regretted.  I  had  purchased  most  of  my 
own  books  with  the  product  of  my  own  separate  industry, 
and,  their  number  being,  of  course,  small,  I  had,  by  in 
cessant  application,  gotten  the  whole  of  them  by  rote. 
They  had  ceased,  therefore,  to  be  of  any  further  use.  I 
left  them,  without  reluctance,  to  the  fate  for  which  I 
knew  them  to  be  reserved,  that  of  affording  food  and 
habitation  to  mice. 

I  trod  this  unwonted  path  with  all  the  fearlessness  of 
youth.  In  spite  of  the  motives  to  despondency  and  ap 
prehension  incident  to  my  state,  my  heels  were  light  and 
my  heart  joyous.  "Now,"  said  I,  "I  am  mounted  into 
man.  I  must  build  a  name  and  a  fortune  for  myself. 
Strange  if  this  intellect  and  these  hands  will  not  supply 
me  with  an  honest  livelihood.  I  will  try  the  city  in  the 
first  place ;  but,  if  that  should  fail,  resources  are  still 
left  to  me.  I  will  resume  my  post  in  the  cornfield  and 
threshing-floor,  to  which  I  shall  always  have  access,  and 
where  I  shall  always  be  happy." 

I  had  proceeded  some  miles  on  my  journey,  when  I 
began  to  feel  the  inroads  of  hunger.  I  might  have 
stopped  at  any  farm-house,  and  have  breakfasted  for 
nothing.  It  was  prudent  to  husband,  with  the  utmost 
care,  my  slender  stock ;  but  I  felt  reluctance  to  beg  as 
long  as  I  had  the  means  of  buying,  and  I  imagined  that 
coarse  bread  and  a  little  milk  would  cost  little  even  at  a 

25 


26  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

tavern,  when  any  farmer  was  willing  to  bestow  them  for 
nothing.  My  resolution  Avas  further  influenced  by  the 
appearance  of  a  signpost.  What  excuse  could  I  make 
for  begging  a  breakfast  with  an  inn  at  hand  and  silver 
in  my  pocket? 

I  stopped,  accordingly,  and  breakfasted.  The  landlord 
was  remarkably  attentive  and  obliging,  but  his  bread  was 
stale,  his  milk  sour,  and  his  cheese  the  greenest  imaginable. 
I  disdained  to  animadvert  on  these  defects,  naturally  sup 
posing  that  his  house  could  furnish  no  better. 

Having  finished  my  meal,  I  put,  without  speaking, 
one  of  my  pieces  into  his  hand.  This  deportment  I 
conceived  to  be  highly  becoming,  and  to  indicate  a 
liberal  and  manly  spirit.  I  always  regarded  with  con 
tempt  a  scrupulous  maker  of  bargains.  He  received  the 
money  with  a  complaisant  obeisance.  "Right,"  said  he. 
"Just  the  money,  sir.  You  are  on  foot,  sir.  A  pleasant 
way  of  travelling,  sir.  I  wish  you  a  good  day,  sir."  So 
saying,  he  walked  away. 

This  proceeding  was  wholly  unexpected.  I  conceived 
myself  entitled  to  at  least  three-fourths  of  it  in  change. 
The  first  impulse  was  to  call  him  back,  and  contest  the 
equity  of  his  demand  ;  but  a  moment's  reflection  showed 
me  the  absurdity  of  such  conduct.  I  resumed  my  journey 
with  spirits  somewhat  depressed.  I  have  heard  of  voyagers 
and  wanderers  in  deserts,  who  were  willing  to  give  a  casket 
of  gems  for  a  cup  of  cold  water.  I  had  not  supposed  my 
own  condition  to  be,  in  any  respect,  similar ;  yet  I  had 
just  given  one-third  of  my  estate  for  a  breakfast. 

I  stopped  at  noon  at  another  inn.  I  counted  on  pur 
chasing  a  dinner  for  the  same  price,  since  I  meant  to 
content  myself  with  the  same  fare.  A  large  company 
was  just  sitting  down  to  a  smoking  banquet.  The  land 
lord  invited  me  to  join  them.  I  took  my  place  at  the 
table,  but  was  furnished  with  bread  and  milk.  Being 
prepared  to  depart,  I  took  him  aside.  "What  is  to 
pay?"  said  I. — "Did  you  drink  any  thing,  sir?" — 
"Certainly.  I  drank  the  milk  which  was  furnished." — 
"But  any  liquors,  sir?" — "No." 

He  deliberated  a  moment,  and  then,  assuming  an  air 
of  disinterestedness,  "'Tis  our  custom  to  charge  dinner 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR   1793.  2/ 

and  club ;  but,  as  you  drank  nothing,  we'll  let  the  club 
go.  A  mere  dinner  is  half  a  dollar,  sir." 

He  had  no  leisure  to  attend  to  my  fluctuations.  After 
debating  with  myself  on  what  was  to  be  done,  I  concluded 
that  compliance  was  best,  and,  leaving  the  money  at  the 
bar,  resumed  my  Avay. 

I  had  not  performed  more  than  half  my  journey,  yet 
my  purse  was  entirely  exhausted.  This  was  a  specimen 
of  the  cost  incurred  by  living  at  an  inn.  If  I  entered  the 
city,  a  tavern  must,  at  least  for  some  time,  be  my  abode  ; 
but  I  had  not  a  farthing  remaining  to  defray  my  charges. 
My  father  had  formerly  entertained  a  boarder  for  a  dollar 
per  week,  and,  in  case  of  need,  I  was  willing  to  subsist 
upon  coarser  fare  and  lie  on  a  harder  bed  than  those 
with  which  our  guest  had  been  supplied.  These  facts  had 
been  the  foundation  of  my  negligence  on  this  occasion. 

What  was  now  to  be  done  ?  To  return  to  my  paternal 
mansion  was  impossible.  To  relinquish  my  design  of 
entering  the  city  and  to  seek  a  temporary  asylum,  if  not 
permanent  employment,  at  some  one  of  the  plantations 
within  view,  was  the  most  obvious  expedient.  These 
deliberations  did  not  slacken  my  pace.  I  was  almost 
unmindful  of  my  Avay,  when  I  found  I  had  passed 
Schuylkill  at  the  upper  bridge.  I  was  now  within  the 
precincts  of  the  city,  and  night  was  hastening.  It  be 
hooved  me  to  come  to  a  speedy  decision. 

Suddenly  I  recollected  that  I  had  not  paid  the  cus 
tomary  toll  at  the  bridge ;  neither  had  I  money  wherewith 
to  pay  it.  A  demand  of  payment  Avould  have  suddenly 
arrested  my  progress ;  and  so  slight  an  incident  would 
have  precluded  that  wonderful  destiny  to  which  I  was 
reserved.  The  obstacle  that  would  have  hindered  my 
advance  now  prevented  my  return.  Scrupulous  honesty 
did  not  require  me  to  turn  back  and  awaken  the  vigilance 
of  the  toll-gatherer.  I  had  nothing  to  pay,  and  by  re 
turning  I  should  only  double  my  debt.  "Let  it  stand," 
said  I,  "where  it  does.  All  that  honour  enjoins  is  to 
pay  when  I  am  able." 

I  adhered  to  the  crossways,  till  I  reached  Market 
Street.  Night  had  fallen,  and  a  triple  TOAV  of  lamps  pre 
sented  a  spectacle  enchanting  and  new.  My  personal 


28  ARTHUR   MERVYN;    OR, 

cares  -were,  for  a  time,  lost  in  the  tumultuous  sensations 
with  which  I  was  now  engrossed.  I  had  never  visited 
the  city  at  this  hour.  When  my  last  visit  was  paid,  I 
was  a  mere  child.  The  novelty  which  environed  every 
object  was,  therefore,  nearly  absolute.  I  proceeded  with 
more  cautious  steps,  but  was  still  absorbed  in  attention  to 
passing  objects.  I  reached  the  market-house,  and,  enter 
ing  it,  indulged  myself  in  new  delight  and  new  wonder. 

I  need  not  remark  that  our  ideas  of  magnificence  and 
splendour  are  merely  comparative ;  yet  you  may  be 
prompted  to  smile  when  I  tell  you  that,  in  walking 
through  this  avenue,  I,  for  a  moment,  conceived  myself 
transported  to  the  hall  "pendent  with  many  a  row  of 
starry  lamps  and  blazing  crescents  fed  by  naphtha  and 
asphaltos."  That  this  transition  from  my  homely  and 
quiet  retreat  had  been  effected  in  so  few  hours  wore  the 
aspect  of  miracle  or  magic. 

I  proceeded  from  one  of  these  buildings  to  another, 
till  I  reached  their  termination  in  Front  Street.  Here 
my  progress  was  checked,  and  I  sought  repose  to  my 
weary  limbs  by  seating  myself  on  a  stall.  No  wonder 
some  fatigue  was  felt  by  me,  accustomed  as  I  was  to 
strenuous  exertions,  since,  exclusive  of  the  minutes  spent 
at  breakfast  and  dinner,  I  had  travelled  fifteen  hours 
and  forty-five  miles. 

I  began  now  to  reflect,  with  some  earnestness,  on  my 
condition.  I  was  a  stranger,  friendless  and  moneyless. 
I  was  unable  to  purchase  food  and  shelter,  and  was 
wholly  unused  to  the  business  of  begging.  Hunger  was 
the  only  serious  inconvenience  to  which  I  was  imme 
diately  exposed.  I  had  no  objection  to  spend  the  night 
in  the  spot  where  I  then  sat.  I  had  no  fear  that  my 
visions  would  be  troubled  by  the  officers  of  police.  It  was 
no  crime  to  be  without  a  home  ;  but  how  should  I  supply 
my  present  cravings  and  the  cravings  of  to-morrow  '{ 

At  length  it  occurred  to  me  that  one  of  our  country 
neighbours  was  probably  at  this  time  in  the  city.  He 
kept  a  store  as  well  as  cultivated  a  farm.  He  was  a 
plain  and  well-meaning  man,  and,  should  I  be  so  for 
tunate  as  to  meet  him,  his  superior  knowledge  of  the 
city  might  be  of  essential  benefit  to  me  in  my  present 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  29 

forlorn  circumstances.  His  generosity  might  likewise 
induce  him  to  lend  me  so  much  as  would  purchase  one 
meal.  I  had  formed  the  resolution  to  leave  the  city  next 
day,  and  was  astonished  at  the  folly  that  had  led  me  into 
it ;  but,  meanwhile,  my  physical  wants  must  be  supplied. 

Where  should  I  look  for  this  man  ?  In  the  course  of 
conversation  I  recollected  him  to  have  referred  to  the 
place  of  his  temporary  abode.  It  was  an  inn ;  but  the 
sign  or  the  name  of  the  keeper  for  some  time  withstood 
all  my  efforts  to  recall  them. 

At  length  I  lighted  on  the  last.  It  was  Lesher's  tavern. 
I  immediately  set  out  in  search  of  it.  After  many  inquiries, 
I  at  last  arrived  at  the  door.  I  was  preparing  to  enter 
the  house  when  I  perceived  that  my  bundle  was  gone.  I 
had  left  it  on  the  stall  where  I  had  been  sitting.  People 
were  perpetually  passing  to  and  fro.  It  was  scarcely 
possible  not  to  have  been  noticed.  No  one  that  observed 
it  would  fail  to  make  it  his  prey.  Yet  it  was  of  too  much 
value  to  me  to  allow  me  to  be  governed  by  a  bare  proba 
bility.  I  resolved  to  lose  not  a  moment  in  returning. 

With  some  difficulty  I  retraced  my  steps,  but  the  bundle 
had  disappeared.  The  clothes  were,  in  themselves,  of 
small  value,  but  they  constituted  the  whole  of  my  ward 
robe  ;  and  I  now  reflected  that  they  were  capable  of  being 
transmuted,  by  the  pawn  or  sale  of  them,  into  food. 
There  were  other  wretches  as  indigent  as  I  was,  and  I 
consoled  myself  by  thinking  that  my  shirts  and  stockings 
might  furnish  a  seasonable  covering  to  their  nakedness ; 
but  there  was  a  relic  concealed  within  this  bundle,  the 
loss  of  which  could  scarcely  be  endured  by  me.  It  was 
the  portrait  of  a  young  man  who  died  three  years  ago 
at  my  father's  house,  drawn  by  his  own  hand. 

He  was  discovered  one  morning  in  the  orchard  with 
many  marks  of  insanity  upon  him.  His  air  and  dress  be 
spoke  some  elevation  of  rank  and  fortune.  My  mother's 
compassion  was  excited,  and,  as  his  singularities  were 
harmless,  an  asylum  was  afforded  him,  though  he  was 
unable  to  pay  for  it.  lie  was  constantly  declaiming,  in 
an  incoherent  manner,  about  some  mistress  who  had 
proved  faithless.  His  speeches  seemed,  however,  like 
the  rantings  of  an  actor,  to  be  rehearsed  by  rote  or  for 


30  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

the  sake  of  exercise.  He  was  totally  careless  of  his  per 
son  and  health,  and,  by  repeated  negligences  of  this  kind, 
at  last  contracted  a  fever  of  which  he  speedily  died.  The 
name  which  he  assumed  was  Clavering. 

He  gave  no  distinct  account  of  his  family,  but  stated, 
in  loose  terms,  that  they  were  residents  in  England,  high 
born  and  wealthy.  That  they  had  denied  him  the  woman 
whom  he  loved  and  banished  him  to  America,  under 
penalty  of  death  if  he  should  dare  to  return,  and  that 
they  had  refused  him  all  means  of  subsistence  in  a  foreign 
land.  He  predicted,  in  his  wild  and  declamatory  way, 
his  own  death.  He  was  very  skilful  at  the  pencil,  and 
drew  this  portrait  a  short  time  before  his  dissolution, 
presented  it  to  me,  and  charged  me  to  preserve  it  in  re 
membrance  of  him.  My  mother  loved  the  youth  because 
he  was  amiable  and  unfortunate,  and  chiefly  because  she 
fancied  a  very  powerful  resemblance  between  his  counte 
nance  and  mine.  I  was  too  young  to  build  affection  on 
any  rational  foundation.  I  loved  him,  for  whatever  rea 
son,  with  an  ardour  unusual  at  my  age,  and  which  this 
portrait  had  contributed  to  prolong  and  to  cherish. 

In  thus  finally  leaving  my  home,  I  was  careful  not  to 
leave  this  picture  behind.  I  wrapped  it  in  paper  in  which 
a  few  elegiac  stanzas  were  inscribed  in  my  own  hand,  and 
with  my  utmost  elegance  of  penmanship.  I  then  placed 
it  in  a  leathern  case,  which,  for  greater  security,  was  de 
posited  in  the  centre  of  my  bundle.  It  will  occur  to  you, 
perhaps,  that  it  would  be  safer  in  some  fold  or  pocket  of 
the  clothes  which  I  wore.  I  was  of  a  different  opinion, 
and  was  now  to  endure  the  penalty  of  my  error. 

It  was  in  vain  to  heap  execrations  on  my  negligence, 
or  to  consume  the  little  strength  left  to  me  in  regrets. 
I  returned  once  more  to  the  tavern  and  made  inquiries 
for  Mr.  Capper,  the  person  whom  I  have  just  mentioned 
as  my  father's  neighbour.  I  was  informed  that  Capper 
was  now  in  town  ;  that  he  had  lodged,  on  the  last  night, 
at  this  house ;  that  he  had  expected  to  do  the  same  to 
night,  but  a  gentleman  had  called  ten  minutes  ago,  whose 
invitation  to  lodge  with  him  to-night  had  been  accepted. 
They  had  just  gone  out  together.  Who,  I  asked,  waa 
the  gentleman  ?  The  landlord  had  no  knowledge  of  him ; 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR   1793.  3! 

he  knew  neither  his  place  of  abode  nor  his  name.  Wag 
Mr.  Capper  expected  to  return  hither  in  the  morning  ? 
No ;  he  had  heard  the  stranger  propose  to  Mr.  Capper 
to  go  with  him  into  the  country  to-morrow,  and  Mr. 
Capper,  he  believed,  had  assented. 

This  disappointment  was  peculiarly  severe.  I  had 
lost,  by  my  own  negligence,  the  only  opportunity  that 
would  offer  of  meeting  my  friend.  Had  even  the  recol 
lection  of  my  loss  been  postponed  for  three  minutes,  I 
should  have  entered  the  house,  and  a  meeting  would 
have  been  secured.  I  could  discover  no  other  expedient 
to  obviate  the  present  evil.  My  heart  began  now,  for 
the  first  time,  to  droop.  I  looked  back,  with  nameless 
emotions,  on  the  days  of  my  infancy.  I  called  up  the 
image  of  my  mother.  I  reflected  on  the  infatuation  of 
my  surviving  parent,  and  the  usurpation  of  the  detest 
able  Betty,  with  horror.  I  viewed  myself  as  the  most 
calamitous  and  desolate  of  human  beings. 

At  this  time  I  was  sitting  in  the  common  room.  There 
were  others  in  the  same  apartment,  lounging,  or  whis 
tling,  or  singing.  I  noticed  them  not,  but,  leaning  my 
head  upon  my  hand,  I  delivered  myself  up  to  painful 
and  intense  meditation.  From  this  I  was  roused  by 
some  one  placing  himself  on  the  bench  near  me  and 
addressing  me  thus : — "Pray,  sir,  if  you  will  excuse  me, 
who  was  the  person  whom  you  were  looking  for  just  now  ? 
Perhaps  I  can  give  you  the  information  you  want.  If  I 
can,  you  will  be  very  welcome  to  it."  I  fixed  my  eyes 
with  some  eagerness  on  the  person  that  spoke.  He  was 
a  young  man,  expensively  and  fashionably  dressed,  whose 
mien  was  considerably  prepossessing,  and  whose  counte 
nance  bespoke  some  portion  of  discernment.  I  described 
to  him  the  man  whom  I  sought.  "I  am  in  search  of 
the  same  man  myself,"  said  he,  "but  I  expect  to  meet 
him  here.  He  may  lodge  elsewhere,  but  he  promised  to 
meet  me  here  at  half  after  nine.  I  have  no  doubt  he 
will  fulfil  his  promise,  so  that  you  will  meet  the  gen 
tleman." 

I  was  highly  gratified  by  this  information,  and  thanked 
my  informant  with  some  degree  of  warmth.  My  grati 
tude  he  did  not  notice,  but  continued:  "In  order  to  be> 


32  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

guile  expectation,  I  have  ordered  supper ;  will  you  do 
me  the  favour  to  partake  with  me,  unless  indeed  you 
have  supped  already?"  I  was  obliged,  somewhat  awk 
wardly,  to  decline  his  invitation,  conscious  as  I  was  that 
the  means  of  payment  were  not  in  my  power.  lie  con 
tinued,  however,  to  urge  my  compliance  till  at  length  it 
was,  though  reluctantly,  yielded.  My  chief  motive  was 
the  certainty  of  seeing  Capper. 

My  new  acquaintance  was  exceedingly  conversible, 
but  his  conversation  was  chiefly  characterized  by  frank 
ness  and  good-humour.  My  reserve  gradually  dimi 
nished,  and  I  ventured  to  inform  him,  in  general  terms, 
of  my  former  condition  and  present  views.  He  listened 
to  my  details  with  seeming  attention,  and  commented  on 
them  with  some  judiciousness.  His  statements,  however, 
tended  to  discourage  me  from  remaining  in  the  city. 

Meanwhile  the  hour  passed  and  Capper  did  not  appear. 
I  noticed  this  circumstance  to  him  with  no  little  solici 
tude.  He  said  that  possibly  he  might  have  forgotten  or 
neglected  his  engagement.  His  affair  was  not  of  the 
highest  importance,  and  might  be  readily  postponed  to  a 
future  opportunity.  He  perceived  that  my  vivacity  was 
greatly  damped  by  this  intelligence.  He  importuned  me 
to  disclose  the  cause.  He  made  himself  very  merry  with 
my  distress,  when  it  was  at  length  discovered.  As  to 
the  expense  of  supper,  I  had  partaken  of  it  at  his  invi 
tation  ;  he  therefore  should  of  course  be  charged  with  it. 
As  to  lodging,  he  had  a  chamber  and  a  bed,  which  he 
would  insist  upon  my  sharing  with  him. 

My  faculties  were  thus  kept  upon  the  stretch  of  won 
der.  Every  new  act  of  kindness  in  this  man  surpassed 
the  fondest  expectation  that  I  had  formed.  I  saw  no 
reason  why  I  should  be  treated  with  benevolence.  I 
should  have  acted  in  the  same  manner  if  placed  in  the 
same  circumstances;  yet  it  appeared  incongruous  and 
inexplicable.  I  know  whence  my  ideas  of  human  na 
ture  were  derived.  They  certainly  were  not  the  offspring 
of  my  own  feelings.  These  would  have  taught  me  that 
interest  and  duty  were  blended  in  every  act  of  gene 
rosity. 

I  did  not  come  into  the  world  without  my  scruples  and 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  /7£?.  33 

suspicions.  I  was  more  apt  to  impute  kindnesses  to 
sinister  and  hidden  than  to  obvious  and  laudable  mo 
tives. 

I  paused  to  reflect  upon  the  possible  designs  of  this 
person.  What  end  could  be  served  by  this  behaviour  ? 
I  was  no  subject  of  violence  or  fraud.  I  had  neither 
trinket  nor  coin  to  stimulate  the  treachery  of  others. 
What  was  offered  was  merely  lodging  for  the  night. 
Was  this  an  act  of  such  transcendent  disinterestedness 
as  to  be  incredible?  My  garb  was  meaner  than  that 
of  my  companion,  but  my  intellectual  accomplishments 
were  at  least  upon  a  level  with  his.  Why  should  he  be 
supposed  to  be  insensible  to  my  claims  upon  his  kind 
ness  ?  I  was  a  youth  destitute  of  experience,  money, 
and  friends;  but  I  was  not  devoid  of  all  mental  and 
personal  endowments.  That  my  merit  should  be  dis 
covered,  even  on  such  slender  intercourse,  had  surely 
nothing  in  it  that  shocked  belief. 

While  I  was  thus  deliberating,  my  new  friend  was 
earnest  in  his  solicitations  for  my  company.  He  re 
marked  my  hesitation,  but  ascribed  it  to  a  wrong  cause. 
"Come,"  said  he,  "I  can  guess  your  objections  and  can 
obviate  them.  You  are  afraid  of  being  ushered  into 
company;  and  people  who  have  passed  their  lives  like 
you  have  a  wonderful  antipathy  to  strange  faces;  but 
this  is  bedtime  with  our  family,  so  that  we  can  defer 
your  introduction  to  them  till  to-morrow.  We  may 
go  to  our  chamber  without  being  seeii  by  any  but  ser 
vants." 

I  had  not  been  aware  of  this  circumstance.  My  re 
luctance  flowed  from  a  different  cause,  but,  now  that  the 
inconveniences  of  ceremony  were  mentioned,  they  ap 
peared  to  me  of  considerable  weight.  I  was  well  pleased 
that  they  should  thus  be  avoided,  and  consented  to  go 
along  with  him. 

We  passed  several  streets  and  turned  several  corners. 
At  last  we  turned  into  a  kind  of  court  which  seemed  to 
be  chiefly  occupied  by  stables.  "We  will  go,"  said  he, 
"by  the  back  way  into  the  house.  We  shall  thus  save 
ourselves  the  necessity  of  entering  the  parlour,  where 
some  of  the  family  may  still  be." 
3 


34  ARTHUR  MERVYN. 

My  companion  was  as  talkative  as  ever,  but  said  no 
thing  from  which  I  could  gather  any  knowledge  of  the 
nuuiher,  character,  and  condition  of  his  family. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WE  arrived  at  a  brick  wall,  through  which  we  passed 
by  a  gate  into  an  extensive  court  or  yard.  The  dark 
ness  would  allow  me  to  see  nothing  but  outlines.  Com 
pared  with  the  pigmy  dimensions  of  my  father's  wooden 
hovel,  the  buildings  before  me  were  of  gigantic  loftiness. 
The  horses  were  here  far  more  magnificently  accommo 
dated  than  I  had  been.  By  a  large  door  we  entered  an 
elevated  hall.  "  Stay  here,"  said  he,  "just  while  I  fetch 
a  light." 

He  returned,  bearing  a  candle,  before  I  had  time  to 
ponder  on  my  present  situation. 

We  now  ascended  a  staircase,  covered  with  painted 
canvas.  No  one  whose  inexperience  is  less  than  mine 
can  imagine  to  himself  the  impressions  made  upon  me 
by  surrounding  objects.  The  height  to  which  this  stair 
ascended,  its  dimensions,  and  its  ornaments,  appeared  to 
me  a  combination  of  all  that  was  pompous  and  superb. 

We  stopped  not  till  we  had  reached  the  third  story. 
Here  my  companion  unlocked  and  led  the  way  into  a 
chamber.  "This,"  said  he,  "is  my  room;  permit  me 
to  welcome  you  into  it." 

I  had  no  time  to  examine  this  room  before,  by  some 
accident,  the  candle  was  extinguished.  "  Curse  upon  my 
carelessness!"  said  he.  "I  must  go  down  again  and 
light  the  candle.  I  will  return  in  a  twinkling.  Mean 
while  you  may  undress  yourself  and  go  to  bed."  He 
went  out,  and,  as  I  afterwards  recollected,  locked  the 
door  behind  him. 

I  was  not  indisposed  to  follow  his  advice,  but  my  cu 
riosity  would  first  be  gratified  by  a  survey  of  the  room. 
Its  height  and  spaciousness  were  imperfectly  discernible 
by  starlight,  and  by  gleams  from  a  street-lamp.  The 

35 


36  ARTHUR   MERVYX;    OR, 

floor  was  covered  with  a  carpet,  the  walls  with  brilliant 
hangings;  the  bed  and  windows  were  shrouded  by  cur 
tains  of  a  rich  texture  and  glossy  hues.  Hitherto  I  had 
iiit-rc'ly  read  of  these  things.  I  knew  them  to  be  the 
decorations  of  opulence;  and  yet,  as  I  viewed  them,  and 
remembered  where  and  what  I  was  on  the  same  hour  the 
preceding  day,  I  could  scarcely  believe  myself  awake,  or 
that  my  senses  were  not  beguiled  by  some  spell. 

"Where,"  said  I,  "will  this  adventure  terminate?  I 
rise  on  the  morrow  with  the  dawn  and  speed  into  the 
country.  When  this  night  is  remembered,  how  like  a 
vision  will  it  appear!  If  I  tell  the  tale  by  a  kitchen- 
fire,  my  veracity  will  be  disputed.  I  shall  be  ranked 
with  the  story-tellers  of  Shiraz  and  Bagdad." 

Though  busied  in  these  reflections,  I  was  not  inatten 
tive  to  the  progress  of  time.  Methought  my  companion 
was  remarkably  dilatory.  He  went  merely  to  relight 
his  candle,  but  certainly  he  might,  during  this  time, 
have  performed  the  operation  ten  times  over.  Some 
unforeseen  accident  might  occasion  his  delay. 

Another  interval  passed,  and  no  tokens  of  his  coming. 
I  began  now  to  grow  uneasy.  I  was  unable  to  account 
for  his  detention.  Was  not  some  treachery  designed? 
I  went  to  the  door,  and  found  that  it  was  locked.  This 
heightened  my  suspicions.  1  was  alone,  a  stranger,  in 
an  upper  room  of  the  house.  Should  my  conductor 
have  disappeared,  by  design  or  by  accident,  and  some 
one  of  the  family  should  find  me  here,  what  would  be 
the  consequence?  Should  I  not  be  arrested  as  a  thief, 
and  conveyed  to  prison?  My  transition  from  the  street 
to  this  chamber  would  not  be  more  rapid  than  my  pas 
sage  hence  to  a  jail. 

These  ideas  struck  me  with  panic.  I  revolved  them 
anew,  but  they  only  acquired  greater  plausibility.  No 
doubt  I  had  been  the  victim  of  malicious  artifice.  In 
clination,  however,  conjured  up  opposite  sentiments,  and 
my  fears  began  to  subside.  What  motive,  I  asked, 
could  induce  a  human  being  to  inflict  wanton  injury  ?  I 
could  not  account  for  his  delay ;  but  how  numberless 
wrre  the  contingencies  that  might  occasion  it! 

I  was  somewhat  comforted  by  these  reflections,  but 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  37 

the  consolation  they  afforded  was  short-lived.  I  was 
listening  with  the  utmost  eagerness  to  catch  the  sound 
of  a  foot,  when  a  noise  was  indeed  heard,  but  totally 
unlike  a  step.  It  was  human  breath  struggling,  as  it 
were,  for  passage.  On  the  first  effort  of  attention,  it 
appeared  like  a  groan.  Whence  it  arose  I  could  not 
tell.  He  that  uttered  it  was  near ;  perhaps  in  the  room. 

Presently  the  same  noise  was  again  heard,  and  now  I 
perceived  that  it  came  from  the  bed.  It  was  accompa 
nied  with  a  motion  like  some  one  changing  his  posture. 
What  I  at  first  conceived  to  be  a  groan  appeared  now 
to  be  nothing  more  than  the  expiration  of  a  sleeping 
man.  What  should  I  infer  from  this  incident?  My 
companion  did  not  apprize  me  that  the  apartment  was 
inhabited.  Was  his  imposture  a  jestful  or  a  wicked  one? 

There  was  no  need  to  deliberate.  There  were  no 
means  of  concealment  or  escape.  The  person  would 
some  time  awaken  and  detect  me.  The  interval  would  only 
be  fraught  with  agony,  and  it  was  wise  to  shorten  it. 
Should  I  not  withdraw  the  curtain,  awake  the  person, 
and  encounter  at  once  all  the  consequences  of  my  situa 
tion?  I  glided  softly  to  the  bed,  when  the  thought 
occurred,  May  not  the  sleeper  be  a  female? 

I  cannot  describe  the  mixture  of  dread  and  of  shame 
which  glowed  in  my  veins.  The  light  in  which  such  a 
visitant  would  be  probably  regarded  by  a  woman's  fears, 
the  precipitate  alarms  that  might  be  given,  the  injury 
which  I  might  unknowingly  inflict  or  undeservedly  suffer, 
threw  my  thoughts  into  painful  confusion.  My  presence 
might  pollute  a  spotless  reputation,  or  furnish  fuel  to 
jealousy. 

Still,  though  it  were  a  female,  would  not  less  injury 
be  done  by  gently  interrupting  her  slumber?  But  the 
question  of  sex  still  remained  to  be  decided.  For  this 
end  I  once  more  approached  the  bed,  and  drew  aside 
the  silk.  The  sleeper  was  a  babe.  This  I  discovered 
by  the  glimmer  of  a  street-lamp. 

Part  of  my  solicitudes  were  now  removed.  It  was 
plain  that  this  chamber  belonged  to  a  nurse  or  a  mother. 
She  had  not  yet  come  to  bed.  Perhaps  it  was  a  married 
pair,  and  their  approach  might  be  momently  expected. 


38  ARTHUR   MERVYN;    OR, 

I  pictured  to  myself  their  entrance  and  my  cwn  detec 
tion.  I  could  imagine  no  consequence  that  was  not  dis 
astrous  and  horrible,  and  from  which  I  would  not  at  any 
price  escape.  I  again  examined  the  door,  and  found 
that  exit  by  this  avenue  was  impossible.  There  were 
other  doors  in  this  room.  Any  practicable  expedient  in 
this  extremity  was  to  be  pursued.  One  of  these  was 
bolted.  I  unfastened  it  and  found  a  considerable  space 
within.  Should  I  immure  myself  in  this  closet?  I  saw 
no  benefit  that  would  finally  result  from  it.  I  discovered 
that  there  was  a  bolt  on  the  inside,  which  would  somewhat 
contribute  to  security.  This  being  drawn,  no  one  could 
enter  without  breaking  the  door. 

I  had  scarcely  paused,  when  the  long-expected  sound 
of  footsteps  was  heard  in  the  entry.  Was  it  my  com 
panion,  or  a  stranger?  If  it  were  the  latter,  I  had  not 
yet  mustered  courage  sufficient  to  meet  him.  I  cannot 
applaud  the  magnanimity  of  my  proceeding ;  but  no  one 
can  expect  intrepid  or  judicious  measures  from  one  in 
my  circumstances.  I  stepped  into  the  closet,  and  closed 
the  door.  Some  one  immediately  after  unlocked  the 
chamber  door.  He  was  unattended  with  a  light.  The 
footsteps,  as  they  moved  along  the  carpet,  could  scarcely 
be  heard. 

I  waited  impatiently  for  some  token  by  which  I  might 
be  governed.  I  put  my  ear  to  the  keyhole,  and  at  length 
heard  a  voice,  but  not  that  of  my  companion,  exclaim, 
somewhat  above  a  whisper,  "  Smiling  cherub !  safe  and 
sound,  I  see.  Would  to  God  my  experiment  may  succeed, 
and  that  thou  maycst  find  a  mother  where  I  have  found 
a  wife!"  There  he  stopped.  He  appeared  to  kiss  the 
babe,  and,  presently  retiring,  locked  the  door  after  him. 

These  words  were  capable  of  no  consistent  meaning. 
They  served,  at  least,  to  assure  me  that  I  had  been 
treacherously  dealt  with.  This  chamber,  it  was  mani 
fest,  did  not  belong  to  my  companion.  I  put  up  prayers 
to  my  Deity  that  he  would  deliver  me  from  these  toils. 
What  a  condition  was  mine!  Immersed  in  palpable 
darkness!  shut  up  in  this  unknown  recess!  lurking  like 
a  robber ! 

My  meditations  were  disturbed  by  new  sounds.     The 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR   1793.  39 

door  was  unlocked,  more  than  one  person  entered  the 
apartment,  and  light  streamed  through  the  keyhole.  I 
looked;  but  the  aperture  was  too  small  and  the  figures 
passed  too  quickly  to  permit  me  the  sight  of  them.  I 
bent  my  ear,  and  this  imparted  some  more  authentic 
information. 

The  man,  as  I  judged  by  the  voice,  was  the  same  who 
had  just  departed.  Rustling  of  silk  denoted  his  com 
panion  to  be  female.  Some  words  being  uttered  by  the 
man,  in  too  low  a  key  to  be  overheard,  the  lady  burst 
into  a  passion  of  tears.  He  strove  to  comfort  her  by 
soothing  tones  and  tender  appellations.  "How  can  it 
be  helped?"  said  he.  "It  is  time  to  resume  your  cou 
rage.  Your  duty  to  yourself  and  to  me  requires  you  to 
subdue  this  unreasonable  grief." 

He  spoke  frequently  in  this  strain,  but  all  he  said 
seemed  to  have  little  influence  in  pacifying  the  lady.  At 
length,  however,  her  sobs  began  to  lessen  in  vehemence 
and  frequency.  He  exhorted  her  to  seek  for  some  re 
pose.  Apparently  she  prepared  to  comply,  and  con 
versation  was,  for  a  few  minutes,  intermitted. 

I  could  not  but  advert  to  the  possibility  that  some 
occasion  to  examine  the  closet,  in  which  I  was  immured, 
might  occur.  I  knew  not  in  what  manner  to  demean 
myself  if  this  should  take  place.  I  had  no  option  at 
present.  By  withdrawing  myself  from  view  I  had  lost 
the  privilege  of  an  upright  deportment.  Yet  the  thought 
of  spending  the  night  in  this  spot  was  not  to  be  endured. 

Gradually  I  began  to  view  the  project  of  bursting 
from  the  closet,  and  trusting  to  the  energy  of  truth  and 
of  an  artless  tale,  with  more  complacency.  More  than 
once  my  hand  was  placed  upon  the  bolt,  but  withdrawn 
by  a  sudden  faltering  of  resolution.  When  one  attempt 
failed,  I  recurred  once  more  to  such  reflections  as  were 
adapted  to  renew  my  purpose. 

I  preconcerted  the  address  which  I  should  use.  I 
resolved  to  be  perfectly  explicit ;  to  withhold  no  particu 
lar  of  my  adventures  from  the  moment  of  my  arrival. 
My  description  must  necessarily  suit  some  person  within 
their  knowledge.  All  I  should  want  was  liberty  to  de 
part;  but,  if  this  were  not  allowed,  I  might  at  least  hope 


40  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

to  escape  any  ill  treatment,  and  to  be  confronted  with 
my  betrayer.  In  that  case  I  did  not  fear  to  make  him 
the  attestor  of  my  innocence. 

Influenced  by  these  considerations,  I  once  more  touched 
the  lock.  At  that  moment  the  lady  shrieked,  and  ex 
claimed,  "Good  God!  What  is  here?"  .  An  interesting 
conversation  ensued.  The  object  that  excited  her  astonish 
ment  was  the  child.  I  collected  from  what  passed  that 
the  discovery  was  wholly  unexpected  by  her.  Her  hus 
band  acted  as  if  equally  unaware  of  this  event.  He 
joined  in  all  her  exclamations  of  wonder  and  all  her 
wild  conjectures.  When  these  were  somewhat  exhausted, 
he  artfully  insinuated  the  propriety  of  bestowing  care 
upon  the  little  foundling.  I  now  found  that  her  grief 
had  been  occasioned  by  the  recent  loss  of  her  own  off 
spring.  She  was,  for  some  time,  averse  to  her  husband's 
proposal,  but  at  length  was  persuaded  to  take  the  babe 
to  her  bosom  and  give  it  nourishment. 

This  incident  had  diverted  my  mind  from  its  favourite 
project,  and  filled  me  with  speculations  on  the  nature  of 
the  scene.  One  explication  was  obvious,  that  the  husband 
was  the.parent  of  this  child,  and  had  used  this  singular 
expedient  to  procure  for  it  the  maternal  protection  of  his 
wife.  It  would  soon  claim  from  her  all  the  fondness 
which  she  entertained  for  her  own  progeny.  No  suspicion 
probably  had  yet,  or  would  hereafter,  occur  with  regard 
to  its  true  parent.  If  her  character  be  distinguished  by 
the  usual  attributes  of  women,  the  knowledge  of  this 
truth  may  convert  her  love  into  hatred.  I  reflected  with 
amazement  on  the  slightncss  of  that  thread  by  which 
human  passions  are  led  from  their  true  direction.  With 
no  less  amazement  did  I  remark  the  complexity  of  inci 
dents  by  which  I  had  been  empowered  to  communicate 
to  her  this  truth.  How  baseless  are  the  structures  of 
falsehood,  which  we  build  in  opposition  to  the  system  of 
eternal  nature !  If  I  should  escape  undetected  from  this 
recess,  it  will  be  true  that  I  never  saw  the  face  of  either 
of  these  persons,  and  yet  I  am  acquainted  with  the  most 
secret  transaction  of  their  lives. 

My  own  situation  was  now  more  critical  than  before. 
The  lights  were  extinguished,  and  the  parties  had  sought 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  41 

repose.  To  issue  from  the  closet  now  would  be  immi 
nently  dangerous.  My  councils  were  again  at  a  stand 
and  my  designs  frustrated.  Meanwhile  the  persons  did 
not  drop  their  discourse,  and  I  thought  myself  justified 
in  listening.  Many  facts  of  the  most  secret  and  mo 
mentous  nature  were  alluded  to.  Some  allusions  were 
unintelligible.  To  others  I  was  able  to  affix  a  plausible 
meaning,  and  some  were  palpable  enough.  Every  word 
that  was  uttered  on  that  occasion  is  indelibly  imprinted 
on  my  memory.  Perhaps  the  singularity  of  my  circum 
stances,  and  my  previous  ignorance  of  what  was  passing 
in  the  world,  contributed  to  render  me  a  greedy  listener. 
Most  that  was  said  I  shall  overlook ;  but  one  part  of  the 
conversation  it  will  be  necessary  to  repeat. 

A  large  company  had  assembled  that  evening  at  their 
house.  They  criticized  the  character  and  manners  of 
several.  At  last  the  husband  said,  "What  think  you  of 
the  nabob  ?  Especially  when  he  talked  about  riches  ? 
How  artfully  he  encourages  the  notion  of  his  poverty ! 
Yet  not  a  soul  believes  him.  I  cannot  for  my  part  account 
for  that  scheme  of  his.  I  half  suspect  that  his  wealth 
flows  from  a  bad  source,  since  he  is  so  studious  of  con 
cealing  it." 

"Perhaps,  after  all,"  said  the  lady,  "you  are  mistaken 
as  to  his  wealth." 

"Impossible,"  exclaimed  the  other.  "Mark  how  he 
lives.  Have  I  not  seen  his  bank-account  ?  His  de 
posits,  since  he  has  been  here,  amount  to  no  less  than 
half  a  million." 

"  Heaven  grant  that  it  be  so  !"  said  the  lady,  with  a 
sigh.  "I  shall  think  with  less  aversion  of  your  scheme. 
If  poor  Tom's  fortune  be  made,  and  he  not  the  worse,  or 
but  little  the  worse  on  that  account,  I  shall  think  it  on 
the  whole  best." 

"That,"  replied  he,  "is  what  reconciles  me  to  the 
scheme.  To  him  thirty  thousand  are  nothing." 

"But  will  he  not  suspect  you  of  some  hand  in  it?" 

"How  can  he?  Will  I  not  appear  to  lose  as  well  as 
himself?  Tom  is  my  brother,  but  who  can  be  supposed 
to  answer  for  a  brother's  integrity?  but  he  cannot  sus 
pect  either  of  us.  Nothing  less  than  a  miracle  can  bring 


42  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

our  plot  to  light.  Besides,  this  man  is  not  what  he  ought 
to  be.  He  will,  some  time  or  other,  come  out  to  be  a 
grand  impostor.  He  makes  money  by  other  arts  than 
bargain  and  sale.  He  has  found  his  way,  by  some 
means,  to  the  Portuguese  treasury." 

Here  the  conversation  took  a  new  direction,  and,  after 
some  time,  the  silence  of  sleep  ensued. 

Who,  thought  I,  is  this  nabob  who  counts  his  dollars 
by  half-millions,  and  on  whom  it  seems  as  if  some  fraud 
was  intended  to  be  practised  ?  Amidst  their  wariness 
and  subtlety,  how  little  are  they  aware  that  their  conver 
sation  has  been  overheard  !  By  means  as  inscrutable  a8 
those  which  conducted  me  hither,  I  may  hereafter  be 
enabled  to  profit  by  this  detection  of  a  plot.  But, 
meanwhile,  what  was  I  to  do?  How  was  I  to  effect  my 
escape  from  this  perilous  asylum  ? 

After  much  reflection,  it  occurred  to  me  that  to  gain 
the  street  without  exciting  their  notice  was  not  utterly 
impossible.  Sleep  does  not  commonly  end  of  itself, 
unless  at  a  certain  period.  What  impediments  were 
there  between  me  and  liberty  which  I  could  not  remove, 
and  remove  with  so  much  caution  as  to  escape  notice  ? 
Motion  and  sound  inevitably  go  together;  but  every 
sound  is  not  attended  to.  The  doors  of  the  closet  and 
the  chamber  did  not  creak  upon  their  hinges.  The  latter 
might  be  locked.  This  I  was  able  to  ascertain  only  by 
experiment.  If  it  were  so,  yet  the  key  was  probably  in 
the  lock,  and  might  be  used  without  much  noise. 

I  waited  till  their  slow  and  hoarser  inspirations  showed 
them  to  be  both  asleep.  Just  then,  on  changing  my 
position,  my  head  struck  against  some  things  which  de 
pended  from  the  ceiling  of  the  closet.  They  were  imple 
ments  of  some  kind  which  rattled  against  each  other  in 
consequence  of  this  unlucky  blow.  I  was  fearful  lest 
this  noise  should  alarm,  as  the  closet  was  little  distant 
from  the  bed.  The  breathing  of  one  instantly  ceased, 
and  a  motion  was  made  as  if  the  head  were  lifted  from 
the  pillow.  This  motion,  which  was  made  by  the  hus 
band,  awaked  his  companion,  who  exclaimed,  "  What  is 
the  matter  ?" 

"Something,  I  believe,"  replied  ho,  "  in  the  closet. 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR   /?£?.  43 

If  I  was  not  dreaming,  I  heard  the  pistols  strike  against 
each  other  as  if  some  one  was  taking  them  down." 

This  intimation  was  well  suited  to  alarm  the  lady. 
She  besought  him  to  ascertain  the  matter.  This,  to  my 
utter  dismay,  he  at  first  consented  to  do,  but  presently 
observed  that  probably  his  ears  had  misinformed  him. 
It  was  hardly  possible  that  the  sound  proceeded  from 
them.  It  might  be  a  rat,  or  his  own  fancy  might  have 
fashioned  it.  It  is  not  easy  to  describe  my  trepidations 
while  this  conference  was  holding.  I  saw  how  easily 
their  slumber  was  disturbed.  The  obstacles  to  my  escape 
were  less  surmountable  than  I  had  imagined. 

In  a  little  time  all  was  again  still.  I  waited  till  the 
usual  tokens  of  sleep  were  distinguishable.  I  once  more 
resumed  my  attempt.  The  bolt  was  withdrawn  with  all 
possible  slowness;  but  I  could  by  no  means  prevent  all 
sound.  My  state  was  full  of  inquietude  and  suspense ; 
my  attention  being  painfully  divided  between  the  bolt 
and  the  condition  of  the  sleepers.  The  difficulty  lay  in 
giving  that  degree  of  force  which  was  barely  sufficient. 
Perhaps  not  less  than  fifteen  minutes  were  consumed  in 
this  operation.  At  last  it  was  happily  effected,  and  the 
door  was  cautiously  opened. 

Emerging  as  I  did  from  utter  darkness,  the  light 
admitted  into  three  windows  produced,  to  my  eyes,  a 
considerable  illumination.  Objects  which,  on  my  first 
entrance  into  this  apartment,  were  invisible,  were  now 
clearly  discerned.  The  bed  was  shrouded  by  curtains, 
yet  I  shrunk  back  into  my  covert,  fearful  of  being  seen. 
To  facilitate  my  escape,  I  put  off  my  shoes.  My  mind 
was  so  full  of  objects  of  more  urgent  moment,  that  the 
propriety  of  taking  them  along  with  me  never  occurred. 
I  left  them  in  the  closet. 

I  now  glided  across  the  apartment  to  the  door.  I 
was  not  a  little  discouraged  by  observing  that  the  key 
was  wanting.  My  whole  hope  depended  on  the  omission 
to  lock  it.  In  my  haste  to  ascertain  this  point,  I  made 
some  noise  which  again  roused  one  of  the  sleepers.  He 
started,  and  cried,  "  Who  is  there  ?" 

I  now  regarded  my  case  as  desperate,  and  detection 
as  inevitable.  My  apprehensions,  rather  than  my  cau- 


44  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

tion,  kept  me  mute.  I  shrunk  to  the  wall,  and  waited 
in  a  kind  of  agony  for  the  moment  that  should  decide 
my  fate. 

The  lady  was  again  roused.  In  answer  to  her  in 
quiries,  her  husband  said  that  some  one,  he  believed,  was 
at  the  door,  but  there  was  no  danger  of  their  entering, 
for  he  had  locked  it,  and  the  key  was  in  his  pocket. 

My  courage  was  completely  annihilated  by  this  piece 
of  intelligence.  My  resources  were  now  at  an  end.  I 
could  only  remain  in  this  spot  till  the  morning  light, 
which  could  be  at  no  great  distance,  should  discover  me. 
My  inexperience  disabled  me  from  estimating  all  the 
perils  of  my  situation.  Perhaps  I  had  no  more  than 
temporary  inconveniences  to  dread.  My  intention  was 
innocent,  and  I  had  been  betrayed  into  my  present  situa 
tion,  not  by  my  own  wickedness,  but  the  wickedness  of 
others. 

I  was  deeply  impressed  with  the  ambiguousness  which 
would  necessarily  rest  upon  my  motives,  and  the  scrutiny 
to  which  they  would  be  subjected.  I  shuddered  at  the 
bare  possibility  of  being  ranked  with  thieves.  These 
reflections  again  gave  edge  to  my  ingenuity  in  search  of 
the  means  of  escape.  1  had  carefully  attended  to  the 
circumstances  of  their  entrance.  Possibly  the  act  of 
locking  had  been  unnoticed ;  but  was  it  not  likewise  pos 
sible  that  this  person  had  been  mistaken  ?  The  key  was 
gone.  Would  this  have  been  the  case  if  the  door  were 
unlocked  ? 

My  fears,  rather  than  my  hopes,  impelled  me  to  make 
the  experiment.  I  drew  back  the  latch,  and,  to  my 
unspeakable  joy,  the  door  opened. 

1  passed  through  and  explored  my  way  to  the  stair 
case.  I  descended  till  I  reached  the  bottom.  I  could 
not  recollect  with  accuracy  the  position  of  the  door  lead 
ing  into  the  court,  but,  by  carefully  feeling  along  the 
wall  with  my  hands,  I  at  length  discovered  it.  It  was 
fastened  by  several  bolts  and  a  lock.  The  bolts  were 
easily  withdrawn,  but  the  key  was  removed.  I  knew 
not  where  it  was  deposited.  1  thought  1  had  reached 
the  threshold  of  liberty,  but  here  was  an  impediment 
that  threatened  to  be  insurmountable. 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  45 

But,  if  doors  could  not  be  passed,  windows  might  be  un 
barred.  I  remembered  that  my  companion  had  gone  into 
a  door  on  the  left  hand,  in  search  of  a  light.  I  searched 
for  this  door.  Fortunately  it  was  fastened  only  by  a  bolt. 
It  admitted  me  into  a  room  which  I  carefully  explored 
till  I  reached  a  window.  I  will  not  dwell  on  my  efforts 
to  unbar  this  entrance.  Suffice  it  to  say  that,  after  much 
exertion  and  frequent  mistakes,  I  at  length  found  my 
way  into  the  yard,  and  thence  passed  into  the  court. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Now  I  was  once  more  on  public  ground.  By  so  many 
anxious  efforts  had  I  disengaged  myself  from  the  perilous 
precincts  of  private  property.  As  many  stratagems  as 
are  usually  made  to  enter  a  house  had  been  employed  by 
me  to  get  out  of  it.  I  was  urged  to  the  use  of  them  by 
my  fears ;  yet,  so  far  from  carrying  off  spoil,  I  had  es 
caped  with  the  loss  of  an  essential  part  of  my  dress. 

I  had  now  leisure  to  reflect.  I  seated  myself  on  the 
ground  and  reviewed  the  scenes  through  which  I  had  just 
passed.  I  began  to  think  that  my  industry  had  been 
misemployed.  Suppose  I  had  met  the  person  on  his  first 
entrance  into  his  chamber?  Was  the  truth  so  utterly 
wild  as  not  to  have  found  credit  ?  Since  the  door  was 
locked,  and  there  was  no  other  avenue,  what  other  state 
ment  but  the  true  one  would  account  for  my  being  found 
there  ?  This  deportment  had  been  worthy  of  an  honest 
purpose.  My  betrayer  probably  expected  that  this  would 
be  the  issue  of  his  jest.  My  rustic  simplicity,  he  might 
think,  would  suggest  no  more  ambiguous  or  elaborate  ex 
pedient.  He  might  likewise  have  predetermined  to  inter 
fere  if  my  safety  had  been  really  endangered. 

On  the  morrow  the  two  doors  of  the  chamber  and  the 
window  below  would  be  found  unclosed.  They  will  sus 
pect  a  design  to  pillage,  but  their  searches  will  terminate 
in  nothing  but  in  the  discovery  of  a  pair  of  clumsy  and 
dusty  shoes  in  the  closet.  Now  that  I  was  safe  I  could 
not  help  smiling  at  the  picture  which  my  fancy  drew  of 
their  anxiety  and  wonder.  These  thoughts,  however, 
gave  place  to  more  momentous  considerations. 

I  could  not  imagine  to  myself  a  more  perfect  example 
of  indigence  than  I  now  exhibited.  There  was  no  being 
46 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR   1793.  47 

in  the  city  on  whose  kindness  I  had  any  claim.  Money 
I  had  none,  and  what  I  then  wore  comprised  my  whole 
stock  of  movables.  I  had  just  lost  my  shoes,  and  this 
loss  rendered  my  stockings  of  no  use.  My  dignity  re 
monstrated  against  a  barefoot  pilgrimage,  but  to  this, 
necessity  now  reconciled  me.  I  threw  my  stockings  be 
tween  the  bars  of  a  stable-window,  belonging,  as  I  thought, 
to  the  mansion  I  had  just  left.  These,  together  with  my 
shoes,  I  left  to  pay  the  cost  of  my  entertainment. 

I  saw  that  the  city  was  no  place  for  me.  The  end  that 
I  had  had  in  view,  of  procuring  some  mechanical  employ 
ment,  could  only  be  obtained  by  the  use  of  means,  but 
what  means  to  pursue  I  knew  not.  This  night's  perils 
and  deceptions  gave  me  a  distaste  to  a  city  life,  and  my 
ancient  occupations  rose  to  my  view  enhanced  by  a  thou 
sand  imaginary  charms.  I  resolved  forthwith  to  strike 
into  the  country. 

The  day  began  now  to  dawn.  It  was  Sunday,  and  I 
was  desirous  of  eluding  observation.  I  was  somewhat 
recruited  by  rest,  though  the  languors  of  sleeplessness 
oppressed  me.  I  meant  to  throw  myself  on  the  first  lap 
of  verdure  I  should  meet,  and  indulge  in  sleep  that  I  so 
much  wanted.  I  knew  not  the  direction  of  the  streets ; 
but  followed  that  which  I  first  entered  from  the  court, 
trusting  that,  by  adhering  steadily  to  one  course,  I  should 
some  time  reach  the  fields.  This  street,  as  I  afterwards 
found,  tended  to  Schuylkill,  and  soon  extricated  me  from 
houses.  I  could  not  cross  this  river  without  payment  of 
toll.  It  was  requisite  to  cross  it  in  order  to  reach  that 
part  of  the  country  whither  I  was  desirous  of  going ;  but 
how  should  I  effect  my  passage  ?  I  knew  of  no  ford,  and 
the  smallest  expense  exceeded  my  capacity.  Ten  thou 
sand  guineas  and  a  farthing  were  equally  remote  from 
nothing,  and  nothing  was  the  portion  allotted  to  me. 

While  my  mind  was  thus  occupied,  I  turned  up  one  of 
the  streets  which  tend  northward.  It  was,  for  some  length, 
uninhabited  and  unpaved.  Presently  I  reached  a  pave 
ment,  and  a  painted  fence,  along  which  a  row  of  poplars 
was  planted.  It  bounded  a  garden  into  which  a  knot 
hole  permitted  me  to  pry.  The  enclosure  was  a  charm 
ing  green,  which  I  saw  appended  to  a  house  of  the  loftiest 


48  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

and  most  stately  order.  It  seemed  like  a  recent  erection, 
h;id  all  the  gloss  of  novelty,  and  exhibited,  to  my  unprac 
tised  eyes,  the  magnificence  of  palaces.  My  father's 
dwelling  did  not  equal  the  height  of  one  story,  and  might 
be  easily  comprised  in  one-fourth  of  those  buildings  which 
here  were  designed  to  accommodate  the  menials.  My 
heart  dictated  the  comparison  between  my  own  condition 
and  that  of  the  proprietors  of  this  domain.  How  wide 
and  how  impassable  was  the  gulf  by  which  we  were  se 
parated  !  This  fair  inheritance  had  fallen  to  one  who, 
perhaps,  would  only  abuse  it  to  the  purposes  of  luxury, 
while  I,  with  intentions  worthy  of  the  friend  of  mankind, 
was  doomed  to  wield  the  flail  and  the  mattock. 

I  had  been  entirely  unaccustomed  to  this  strain  of  re 
flection.  My  books  had  taught  me  the  dignity  and  safety 
of  the  middle  path,  and  my  darling  writer  abounded  with 
encomiums  on  rural  life.  At  a  distance  from  luxury  and 
pomp,  I  viewed  them,  perhaps,  in  a  just  light.  A  nearer 
scrutiny  confirmed  my  early  prepossessions ;  but,  at  the 
distance  at  which  I  now  stood,  the  lofty  edifices,  the 
splendid  furniture,  and  the  copious  accommodations  of 
the  rich  excited  my  admiration  and  my  envy. 

I  relinquished  my  station,  and  proceeded,  in  a  heart 
less  mood,  along  the  fence.  I  now  came  to  the  mansion 
itself.  The  principal  door  was  entered  by  a  staircase  of 
marble.  I  had  never  seen  the  stone  of  Carrara,  and 
wildly  supposed  this  to  have  been  dug  from  Italian  quar 
ries.  The  beauty  of  the  poplars,  the  coolness  exhaled 
from  the  dew-besprent  bricks,  the  commodiousness  of  the 
seat  which  these  steps  afforded,  and  the  uncertainty  into 
which  I  was  plunged  respecting  my  future  conduct,  all 
combined  to  make  me  pause.  I  sat  down  on  the  lower 
step  and  began  to  meditate. 

By  some  transition  it  occurred  to  me  that  the  supply 
of  my  most  urgent  wants  might  be  found  in  some  inha 
bitant  of  this  house.  I  needed  at  present  a  few  cents ; 
and  what  where  a  few  cents  to  the  tenant  of  a  mansion 
like  this?  I  had  an  invincible  aversion  to  the  calling  of 
a  beggar,  but  I  regarded  with  still  more  antipathy  the 
vocation  of  a  thief;  to  this  alternative,  however,  I  was 
now  reduced.  I  must  either  steal  or  bog ;  unless,  in- 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  49 

deed,  assistance  could  be  procured  under  the  notion  of  a 
loan.  Would  a  stranger  refuse  to  lend  the  pittance  that 
I  wanted  ?  Surely  not,  when  the  urgency  of  my  wants 
was  explained. 

I  recollected  other  obstacles.  To  summon  the  master 
of  the  house  from  his  bed,  perhaps,  for  the  sake  of  such 
an  application,  would  be  preposterous.  I  should  be  in 
more  danger  of  provoking  his  anger  than  exciting  hia 
benevolence.  This  request  might,  surely,  with  more  pro 
priety  be  preferred  to  a  passenger.  I  should,  probably, 
meet  several  before  I  should  arrive  at  Schuylkill. 

A  servant  just  then  appeared  at  the  door,  with  bucket 
and  brush.  This  obliged  me,  much  sooner  than  I  in 
tended,  to  decamp.  With  some  reluctance  I  rose  and 
proceeded.  This  house  occupied  the  corner  of  the  street, 
and  I  now  turned  this  corner  towards  the  country.  A 
person,  at  some  distance  before  me,  was  approaching  in 
an  opposite  direction. 

"  Why,"  said  I,  "may  I  not  make  my  demand  of  the 
first  man  I  meet  ?  This  person  exhibits  tokens  of  ability 
to  lend.  There  is  nothing  chilling  or  austere  in  his  de 
meanour." 

The  resolution  to  address  this  passenger  was  almost 
formed ;  but  the  nearer  he  advanced  my  resolves  grew 
less  firm.  He  noticed  me  not  till  he  came  within  a  few 
paces.  He  seemed  busy  in  reflection  ;  and,  had  not  my 
figure  caught  his  eye,  or  had  he  merely  bestowed  a  pass 
ing  glance  upon  me,  I  should  not  have  been  sufficiently 
courageous  to  have  detained  him.  The  event,  however, 
was  widely  different. 

He  looked  at  me  and  started.  For  an  instant,  as  it 
were,  and  till  he  had  time  to  dart  at  me  a  second 
glance,  he  checked  his  pace.  This  behaviour  decided 
mine,  and  he  stopped  on  perceiving  tokens  of  a  desire 
to  address  him.  I  spoke,  but  my  accents  and  air  suffi 
ciently  denoted  my  embarrassments: — 

"1  am  going  to  solicit  a  favour  which  my  situation 
makes  of  the  highest  importance  to  me,  and  which  I 
hope  it  will  be  easy  for  you,  sir,  to  grant.  It  is  not  an 
alms,  but  a  loan,  that  I  seek ;  a  loan  that  I  will  repay 
the  moment  I  am  able  to  do  it.  I  am  going  to  the 
4 


5O  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

country,  but  have  not  wherewith  to  pay  my  passage  over 
Schuyikill,  or  to  buy  a  morsel  of  bread.  May  I  venture 
to  request  of  you,  sir,  the  loan  of  sixpence  ?  As  I  told 
you,  it  is  my  intention  to  repay  it." 

I  delivered  this  address,  not  withoxit  some  faltering, 
but  with  great  earnestness.  I  laid  particular  stress  upon 
my  intention  to  refund  the  money.  He  listened  with  a 
most  inquisitive  air.  His  eye  perused  me  from  head  to 
foot. 

After  some  pause,  he  said,  in  a  very  emphatic  manner, 
"  Why  into  the  country  ?  Have  you  family  ?  Kindred  ? 
Friends?" 

"No,"  answered  I,  "I  have  neither.  I  go  in  search 
of  the  means  of  subsistence.  I  have  passed  my  life 
upon  a  farm,  and  propose  to  die  in  the  same  condition." 

"Whence  have  you  come?" 

"I  came  yesterday  from  the  country,  with  a  view  to 
earn  my  bread  in  some  way,  but  have  changed  my  plan 
and  propose  now  to  return." 

"Why  have  you  changed  it?  In  what  way  are  you 
capable  of  earning  your  bread?" 

"I  hardly  know,"  said  I.  "I  can,  as  yet,  manage  no 
tool,  that  can  be  managed  in  the  city,  but  the  pen.  My 
habits  have,  in  some  small  degree,  qualified  me  for  a  writer. 
I  would  willingly  accept  employment  of  that  kind." 

He  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  earth,  and  was  silent  for 
some  minutes.  At  length,  recovering  himself,  he  said, 
"Follow  me  to  my  house.  Perhaps  something  may  be 
done  for  you.  If  not,  I  will  lend  you  sixpence." 

It  may  be  supposed  that  I  eagerly  complied  with  the 
invitation.  My  companion  said  no  more,  his  air  bespeak 
ing  him  to  be  absorbed  by  his  own  thoughts,  till  he 
reached  his  house,  which  proved  to  be  that  at  the  door  of 
which  I  had  been  seated.  We  entered  a  parlour  together. 

Unless  you  can  assume  my  ignorance  and  my  simplicity, 
you  will  be  unable  to  conceive  the  impressions  that  were 
made  by  the  size  and  ornaments  of  this  apartment.  I 
shall  omit  these  impressions,  which,  indeed,  no  descrip 
tion  could  adequately  convey,  and  dwell  on  incidents  of 
greater  moment.  He  asked  me  to  give  him  a  specimen 
of  my  penmanship.  I  told  you  that  I  had  bestowed 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  $1 

very  great  attention  upon  this  art.  Implements  were 
brought,  and  I  sat  down  to  the  task.  By  some  in 
explicable  connection  a  line  in  Shakspeare  occurred  to 
me,  and  I  wrote, — 

"  My  poverty,  but  not  my  will,  consents." 

The  sentiment  conveyed  in  this  line  powerfully  affected 
hiui,  but  in  a  way  which  I  could  not  then  comprehend. 
I  collected  from  subsequent  events  that  the  inference 
was  not  unfavourable  to  my  understanding  or  my  morals. 
He  questioned  me  as  to  my  history.  I  related  my  origin 
and  my  inducements  to  desert  my  father's  house.  With 
respect  to  last  night's  adventures  I  was  silent.  I  saw  no 
useful  purpose  that  could  be  answered  by  disclosure,  and 
I  half  suspected  that  my  companion  would  refuse  credit 
to  my  tale. 

There  were  frequent  intervals  of  abstraction  and  re 
flection  between  his  questions.  My  examination  lasted 
not  much  less  than  an  hour.  At  length  he  said,  "I  want 
an  amanuensis  or  copyist.  On  what  terms  will  you  live 
with  me?" 

I  answered  that  I  knew  not  how  to  estimate  the  value 
of  my  services.  I  knew  not  whether  these  services 
were  agreeable  or  healthful.  My  life  had  hitherto  been 
active.  My  constitution  was  predisposed  to  diseases  of 
the  lungs,  and  the  change  might  be  hurtful.  I  was  will 
ing,  however,  to  try  and  to  content  myself  for  a  month 
or  a  year,  with  so  much  as  would  furnish  me  with  food, 
clothing,  and  lodging. 

"  'Tis  well,"  said  he.  "You  remain  with  me  as  long  and 
no  longer  than  both  of  us  please.  You  shall  lodge  and 
eat  in  this  house.  I  will  supply  you  with  clothing,  and 
your  task  will  be  to  write  what  I  dictate.  Your  person, 
I  see,  has  not  shared  much  of  your  attention.  It  is  in 
my  power  to  equip  you  instantly  in  the  manner  which 
becomes  a  resident  in  this  house.  Come  with  me." 

He  led  the  way  into  the  court  behind  and  thence  into 
a  neat  building,  which  contained  large  wooden  vessels 
and  a  pump:  "There,"  said  he,  "you  may  wash  your 
self;  and,  when  that  is  done,  I  will  conduct  you  to  your 
chamber  and  your  wardrobe." 


52  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

This  was  speedily  performed,  and  he  accordingly  led 
the  way  to  the  chamber.  It  was  an  apartment  in  the 
third  story,  finished  and  furnished  in  the  same  costly  and 
superb  style  with  the  rest  of  the  house.  He  opened 
closets  and  drawers  which  overflowed  with  clothes  and 
linen  of  all  and  of  the  best  kinds.  "These  are  yours," 
said  he,  "as  long  as  you  stay  with  me.  Dress  yourself 
as  likes  you  best.  Here  is  every  thing  your  nakedness 
requires.  When  dressed,  you  may  descend  to  breakfast." 
With  these  words  he  left  me. 

The  clothes  were  all  in  the  French  style,  as  I  afterwards, 
by  comparing  my  garb  with  that  of  others,  discovered. 
They  were  fitted  to  my  shape  with  the  nicest  precision. 
I  bedecked  myself  with  all  my  care.  I  remembered  the 
style  of  dress  used  by  my  beloved  Clavering.  My  locks 
were  of  shining  auburn,  flowing  and  smooth  like  his. 
Having  wrung  the  wet  from  them,  and  combed,  I  tied 
them  carelessly  in  a  black  riband.  Thus  equipped,  I 
surveyed  myself  in  a  mirror. 

You  may  imagine,  if  you  can,  the  sensations  which  this 
instantaneous  transformation  produced.  Appearances 
are  wonderfully  influenced  by  dress.  Check  shirt,  buttoned 
at  the  neck,  an  awkward  fustian  coat,  check  trowsers  and 
bare  feet,  were  now  supplanted  by  linen  and  muslin, 
nankeen  coat  striped  with  green,  a  white  silk  waistcoat 
elegantly  needle-wrought,  cassimere  pantaloons,  stockings 
of  variegated  silk,  and  shoes  that  in  their  softness,  pliancy, 
and  polished  surface  vied  with  satin.  I  could  scarcely 
forbear  looking  back  to  see  whether  the  image  in  the 
glass,  so  well  proportioned,  so  gallant,  and  so  graceful, 
did  not  belong  to  another.  I  could  scarcely  recognise 
any  lineaments  of  my  own.  I  walked  to  the  window. 
"Twenty  minutes  ago,"  said  I,  "I  was  traversing  that 
path  a  barefoot  beggar;  now  I  am  thus."  Again  I 
surveyed  myself.  "Surely  some  insanity  has  fastened 
on  my  understanding.  My  senses  are  the  sport  of  dreams. 
Some  magic  that  disdains  the  cumbrousness  of  nature's 
progress  has  wrought  this  change."  I  was  roused  from 
these  doubts  by  a  summons  to  breakfast,  obsequiously 
delivered  by  a  black  servant. 

I  found   Welbeck  (for  I  shall  henceforth  call  him  by 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  53 

his  true  name)  at  the  breakfnst-table.  A  superb  equip 
age  of  silver  and  china  was  before  him.  He  was  startled 
at  my  entrance.  The  change  in  ray  dress  seemed  for  a 
moment  to  have  deceived  him.  His  eye  was  frequently 
fixed  upon  me  with  unusual  steadfastness.  At  these 
times  there  was  inquietude  and  wonder  in  his  features. 

I  had  now  an  opportunity  of  examining  my  host.  There 
was  nicety  but  no  ornament  in  his  dress.  His  form  was  of 
the  middle  height,  spare,  but  vigorous  and  graceful.  His 
face  was  cast,  1  thought,  in  a  foreign  mould.  His  forehead 
receded  beyond  the  usual  degree  in  visages  which  I  had 
seen.  His  eyes  large  and  prominent,  but  imparting  no 
marks  of  benignity  and  habitual  joy.  The  rest  of  his  face 
forcibly  suggested  the  idea  of  a  convex  edge.  His  whole 
figure  impressed  me  with  emotions  of  veneration  and  awe. 
A  gravity  that  almost  amounted  to  sadness  invariably 
attended  him  when  we  were  alone  together. 

He  whispered  the  servant  that  waited,  who  immediately 
retired.  He  then  said,  turning  to  me,  "  A  lady  will  enter 
presently,  whom  you  are  to  treat  with  the  respect  due  to 
my  daughter.  You  must  not  notice  any  emotion  she  may 
betray  at  the  sight  of  you,  nor  expect  her  to  converse 
with  you;  for  she  does  not  understand  your  language." 
He  had  scarcely  spoken  when  she  entered.  I  was  seized 
with  certain  misgivings  and  flutterings  which  a  clownish 
education  may  account  for.  I  so  far  conquered  my 
timidity,  however,  as  to  snatch  a  look  at  her.  I  was  not 
born  to  execute  her  portrait.  Perhaps  the  turban  that 
wreathed  her  head,  the  brilliant  texture  and  inimitable 
folds  of  her  drapery,  and  nymphlike  port,  more  than  the 
essential  attributes  of  her  person,  gave  splendour  to  the 
celestial  vision.  Perhaps  it  was  her  snowy  hues,  and 
the  cast  rather  than  the  position  of  her  features,  that 
were  so  prolific  of  enchantment ;  or  perhaps  the  wonder 
originated  only  in  my  own  ignorance. 

She  did  not  immediately  notice  me.  When  she  did 
she  almost  shrieked  with  surprise.  She  held  up  her 
hands,  and,  gazing  upon  me,  uttered  various  exclama 
tions  which  I  could  not  understand.  I  could  only  remark 
that  her  accents  were  thrillingly  musical.  Her  perturba 
tions  refused  to  be  stilled.  It  was  with  difficulty  that 


54  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

she  withdrew  her  regards  from  me.  Much  conversation 
passed  between  her  and  Welbeck,  but  I  could  compre 
hend  no  part  of  it.  I  was  at  liberty  to  animadvert  on 
the  visible  part  of  their  intercourse.  I  diverted  some 
part  of  my  attention  from  my  own  embarrassments,  and 
fixed  it  on  their  looks. 

In  this  art,  as  in  most  others,  I  was  an  unpractised 
simpleton.  In  the  countenance  of  Welbeck,  there  was 
somewhat  else  than  sympathy  with  the  astonishment  and 
distress  of  the  lady ;  but  I  could  not  interpret  these  ad 
ditional  tokens.  When  her  attention  was  engrossed  by 
Welbeck,  her  eyes  were  frequently  vagrant  or  downcast ; 
her  cheeks  contracted  a  deeper  hue ;  and  her  breathing 
was  almost  prolonged  into  a  sigh.  These  were  marks  on 
which  I  made  no  comments  at  the  time.  My  own  situa 
tion  was  calculated  to  breed  confusion  in  my  thoughts 
and  awkwardness  in  my  gestures.  Breakfast  being 
finished,  the  lady,  apparently  at  the  request  of  Welbeck, 
sat  down  to  a  piano-forte. 

Here  again  I  must  be  silent.  I  was  not  wholly  desti 
tute  of  musical  practice  and  musical  taste.  I  had  that 
degree  of  knowledge  which  enabled  me  to  estimate  the 
transcendent  skill  of  this  performer.  As  if  the  pathos 
of  her  touch  were  insufficient,  I  found  after  some  time 
that  the  lawless  jarrings  of  the  keys  were  chastened  by 
her  own  more  liquid  notes.  She  played  without  a  book, 
and,  though  her  bass  might  be  preconcerted,  it  was  plain 
that  her  right-hand  notes  were  momentary  and  sponta 
neous  inspirations.  Meanwhile  Welbeck  stood,  leaning 
his  arms  on  the  back  of  a  chair  near  her,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  her  face.  His  features  were  fraught  with  a 
meaning  which  I  was  eager  to  interpret,  but  unable. 

I  have  read  of  transitions  effected  by  magic ;  I  have 
read  of  palaces  and  deserts  which  were  subject  to  the 
dominion  of  spells ;  poets  may  sport  with  their  power, 
but  I  am  certain  that  no  transition  was  ever  conceived 
more  marvellous  and  more  beyond  the  reach  of  foresight 
than  that  which  I  had  just  experienced.  Heaths  vexed 
by  a  midnight  storm  may  be  changed  into  a  hall  of  choral 
nymphs  and  regal  banqueting ;  forest  glades  may  give 
sudden  place  to  colonnades  and  carnivals ;  but  he  whose 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  55 

senses  are  deluded  finds  himself  still  on  his  natal  earth. 
These  miracles  are  contemptible  when  compared  with 
that  which  placed  me  under  this  roof  and  gave  me  to  par 
take  in  this  audience.  I  know  that  my  emotions  are  in 
danger  of  being  regarded  as  ludicrous  by  those  who  can 
not  figure  to  themselves  the  consequences  of  a  limited 
and  rustic  education 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IN  a  short  time  the  lady  retired.  I  naturally  expected 
that  some  comments  would  be  made  on  her  behaviour,  and 
that  the  cause  of  her  surprise  and  distress  on  seeing  me 
would  be  explained ;  but  Wclbeck  said  nothing  on  that 
subject.  When  she  had  gone,  he  went  to  the  window 
and  stood  for  some  time  occupied,  as  it  seemed,  with  his 
own  thoughts.  Then  he  turned  to  me,  and,  calling  me  by 
my  name,  desired  me  to  accompany  him  up-stairs.  There 
was  neither  cheerfulness  nor  mildness  in  his  address,  but 
neither  was  there  any  thing  domineering  or  arrogant. 

We  entered  an  apartment  on  the  same  floor  with  my 
chamber,  but  separated  from  it  by  a  spacious  entry.  It 
was  supplied  with  bureaus,  cabinets,  and  bookcases. 
"This,"  said  he,  "is  your  room  and  mine;  but  we  must 
enter  it  and  leave  it  together.  I  mean  to  act  not  as 
your  master  but  your  friend.  My  maimed  hand"  (so 
saying,  he  showed  me  his  right  hand,  the  forefinger  of 
which  was  wanting)  "will  not  allow  me  to  write  accu 
rately  or  copiously.  For  this  reason  I  have  required 
your  aid,  in  a  work  of  some  moment.  Much  haste  will 
not  be  requisite,  and,  as  to  the  hours  and  duration  of 
employment,  these  will  be  seasonable  and  short. 

"Your  present  situation  is  new  to  you,  and  we  will 
therefore  defer  entering  on  our  business.  Meanwhile 
you  may  amuse  yourself  in  what  manner  you  please. 
Consider  this  house  as  your  home  and  make  yourself 
familiar  with  it.  Stay  within  or  go  out,  be  busy  or  be 
idle,  as  your  fancy  shall  prompt :  only  you  will  con 
form  to  our  domestic  system  as  to  eating  and  sleep ;  the 
servants  will  inform  you  of  this.  Next  week  we  will 
enter  on  the  task  for  which  I  designed  you.  You  may 
now  withdraw." 
56 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  57 

I  obeyed  this  mandate  with  some  awkwardness  and 
hesitation.  I  went  into  my  own  chamber  not  displeased 
with  an  opportunity  of  loneliness.  I  threw  myself  on  a 
chair  and  resigned  myself  to  those  thoughts  which  would 
naturally  arise  in  this  situation.  I  speculated  on  the 
character  and  views  of  Welbeck.  I  saw  that  he  was 
embosomed  in  tranquillity  and  grandeur.  Riches,  there 
fore,  were  his ;  but  in  what  did  his  opulence  consist,  and 
whence  did  it  arise  ?  What  were  the  limits  by  which  it 
was  confined,  and  what  its  degree  of  permanence  ?  I  was 
unhabituated  to  ideas  of  floating  or  transferable  wealth. 
The  rent  of  houses  and  lands  was  the  only  species  of  pro 
perty  which  was,  as  yet,  perfectly  intelligible.  My  pre 
vious  ideas  led  me  to  regard  Welbeck  as  the  proprietor 
of  this  dwelling  and  of  numerous  houses  and  farms.  By 
the  same  cause  I  was  fain  to  suppose  him  enriched  by 
inheritance,  and  that  his  life  had  been  uniform. 

I  next  adverted  to  his  social  condition.  This  mansion 
appeared  to  have  but  two  inhabitants  besides  servants. 
Who  was  the  nymph  who  had  hovered  for  a  moment  in 
my  sight  ?  Had  he  not  called  her  his  daughter  ?  The 
apparent  difference  in  their  ages  would  justify  this  rela 
tion  ;  but  her  guise,  her  features,  and  her  accents,  were 
foreign.  Her  language  I  suspected  strongly  to  be  that 
of  Italy.  How  should  he  be  the  father  of  an  Italian  ? 
But  were  there  not  some  foreign  lineaments  in  his 
countenance  ? 

This  idea  seemed  to  open  a  new  world  to  my  view.  I 
had  gained,  from  my  books,  confused  ideas  of  European 
governments  and  manners.  I  knew  that  the  present  was 
a  period  of  revolution  and  hostility.  Might  not  these 
be  illustrious  fugitives  from  Provence  or  the  Milanese  ? 
Their  portable  wealth,  which  may  reasonably  be  sup 
posed  to  be  great,  they  have  transported  hither.  Thus 
may  be  explained  the  sorrow  that  veils  their  countenance. 
The  loss  of  estates  and  honours ;  the  untimely  death  of 
kindred,  and  perhaps  of  his  wife,  may  furnish  eternal 
food  for  regrets.  Wclbeck's  utterance,  though  rapid 
and  distinct,  partook,  as  I  conceived,  in  some  very  slight 
degree  of  a  foreign  idiom. 

Such  was  the  dream  that  haunted  my  undisciplined  and 


58  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

unenlightened  imagination.  The  more  I  revolved  it,  the 
more  plausible  it  seemed.  On  due  supposition  every  ap 
pearance  that  I  had  witnessed  was  easily  solved, — unless 
it  were  their  treatment  of  me.  This,  at  first,  was  a  source 
of  hopeless  perplexity.  Gradually,  however,  a  clue  seemed 
to  be  afforded.  Welbeck  had  betrayed  astonishment  on 
my  first  appearance.  The  lady's  wonder  was  mingled 
with  distress.  Perhaps  they  discovered  a  remarkable 
resemblance  between  me  and  one  who  stood  in  the  rela 
tion  of  son  to  Welbeck,  and  of  brother  to  the  lady.  This 
youth  might  have  perished  on  the  scaffold  or  in  war. 
These,  no  doubt,  were  his  clothes.  This  chamber  might 
have  been  reserved  for  him,  but  his  death  left  it  to  be 
appropriated  to  another. 

I  had  hitherto  been  unable  to  guess  at  the  reason  why 
all  this  kindness  had  been  lavished  on  me.  Will  not  this 
conjecture  sufficiently  account  for  it  ?  No  wonder  that 
this  resemblance  was  enhanced  by  assuming  his  dress. 

Taking  all  circumstances  into  view,  these  ideas  were 
not,  perhaps,  destitute  of  probability.  Appearances 
naturally  suggested  them  to  me.  They  were,  also, 
powerfully  enforced  by  inclination.  They  threw  me 
into  transports  of  wonder  and  hope.  When  I  dwelt  upon 
the  incidents  of  my  past  life,  and  traced  the  chain  of 
events,  from  the  death  of  my  mother  to  the  present  mo 
ment,  I  almost  acquiesced  in  the  notion  that  some  benefi 
cent  and  ruling  genius  had  prepared  my  path  for  me. 
Events  which,  when  foreseen,  would  most  ardently  have 
been  deprecated,  and  when  they  happened  were  ac 
counted  in  the  highest  degree  luckless,  were  now  seen  to 
be  propitious.  Hence  I  inferred  the  infatuation  of  de 
spair,  and  the  folly  of  precipitate  conclusions. 

But  what  was  the  fate  reserved  for  me  ?  Perhaps  Wel 
beck  would  adopt  me  for  his  own  son.  Wealth  has  ever 
been  capriciously  distributed.  The  mere  physical  rela 
tion  of  birth  is  all  that  entitles  us  to  manors  and  thrones. 
Identity  itself  frequently  depends  upon  a  casual  likeness 
or  an  old  nurse's  imposture.  Nations  have  risen  in  arms, 
as  in  the  case  of  the  Stuarts,  in  the  cause  of  one  the 
genuineness  of  whose  birth  has  been  denied  and  can  never 
be  proved.  But  if  the  cause  be  trivial  and  fallacious, 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  59 

the  effects  are  momentous  and  solid.  It  ascertains  our 
portion  of  felicity  and  usefulness,  and  fixes  our  lot  among 
peasants  or  princes. 

Something  may  depend  upon  my  own  deportment. 
Will  it  not  behoove  me  to  cultivate  all  my  virtues  and 
eradicate  all  my  defects  ?  I  see  that  the  abilities  of  this 
man  are  venerable.  Perhaps  he  will  not  lightly  or 
hastily  decide  in  my  favour.  lie  will  be  governed  by 
the  proofs  that  I  shall  give  of  discernment  and  integrity. 
I  had  always  been  exempt  from  temptation,  and  was 
therefore  undepraved ;  but  this  view  of  things  had  a 
wonderful  tendency  to  invigorate  my  virtuous  resolutions. 
All  within  me  was  exhilaration  and  joy. 

There  was  but  one  thing  wanting  to  exalt  me  to  a 
dizzy  height  and  give  me  place  among  the  stars  of  hea 
ven.  My  resemblance  to  her  brother  had  forcibly  af 
fected  this  lady;  but  I  was  not  her  brother.  I  was 
raised  to  a  level  with  her  and  made  a  tenant  of  the  same 
mansion.  Some  intercourse  would  take  place  between 
us.  Time  would  lay  level  impediments  and  establish 
familiarity,  and  this  intercourse  might  foster  love  and 
terminate  in — marriage! 

These  images  were  of  a  nature  too  glowing  and  expan 
sive  to  allow  me  to  be  longer  inactive.  I  sallied  forth 
into  the  open  air.  This  tumult  of  delicious  thoughts  in 
some  time  subsided,  and  gave  way  to  images  relative  to 
my  present  situation.  My  curiosity  was  awake.  As 
yet  I  had  seen  little  of  the  city,  and  this  opportunity  for 
observation  was  not  to  be  neglected.  I  therefore  coursed 
through  several  streets,  attentively  examining  the  ob 
jects  that  successively  presented  themselves. 

At  length,  it  occurred  to  me  to  search  out  the  house 
in  which  I  had  lately  been  immured.  I  was  not  without 
hopes  that  at  some  future  period  I  should  be  able  to  com 
prehend  the  allusions  and  brighten  the  obscurities  that 
hung  about  the  dialogue  of  last  night. 

The  house  was  easily  discovered.  I  reconnoitred  the 
court  and  gate  through  which  I  had  passed.  The  mansion 
was  of  the  first  order  in  magnitude  and  decoration.  This 
was  not  the  bound  of  my  present  discovery,  for  I  was 
gifted  with  that  confidence  which  would  make  me  set  on 


6O  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

foot  inquiries  in  the  neighbourhood.  I  looked  around 
for  a  suitable  medium  of  intelligence.  The  opposite  and 
adjoining  houses  were  small,  and  apparently  occupied  by 
persons  of  an  indigent  class.  At  one  of  these  was  a 
sign  denoting  it  to  be  the  residence  of  a  tailor.  Seated 
on  a  bench  at  the  door  was  a  young  man,  with  coarse 
uncombed  locks,  breeches  knee-unbuttoned,  stockings 
ungartered,  shoes  slipshod  and  unbuckled,  and  a  face 
unwashed,  gazing  stupidly  from  hollow  eyes.  His  as 
pect  was  embellished  with  good  nature,  though  indicative 
of  ignorance. 

This  was  the  only  person  in  sight.  He  might  be  able 
to  say  something  concerning  his  opulent  neighbour.  To 
him,  therefore,  I  resolved  to  apply.  I  went  up  to  him, 
and,  pointing  to  the  house  in  question,  asked  him  who 
lived  there. 

He  answered,  "  Mr.  Matthews." 

"What  is  his  profession, — his  way  of  life?" 

"A  gentleman.     He  does  nothing  but  walk  about." 

"  How  long  has  he  been  married  i" 

"  Married !  He  is  not  married  as  I  know  on.  He 
never  has  been  married.  He  is  a  bachelor." 

This  intelligence  was  unexpected.  It  made  me  pause 
to  reflect  whether  I  had  not  mistaken  the  house.  This, 
however,  seemed  impossible.  I  renewed  my  questions. 

"A  bachelor,  say  you  ?     Are  you  not  mistaken  ?" 

"  No.  It  would  be  an  odd  thing  if  he  was  married. 
An  old  fellow,  with  one  foot  in  the  grave  —  Comical 
enough  for  him  to  git  a  vife!" 

"An  old  man?  Does  he  live  alone?  What  is  his 
family?" 

"No,  he  does  not  live  alone.  He  has  a  niece  that 
lives  with  him.  She  is  married,  and  her  husband  lives 
there  too." 

"  What  is  his  name?" 

"  I  don't  know.     I  never  heard  it  as  I  know  on." 

"What  is  his  trade?" 

"  He's  a  merchant ;  he  keeps  a  store  somewhere  or 
other;  but  I  don't  know  where." 

"  How  long  has  he  been  married  ?" 

"About  two  years.     They  lost  a  child  lately.     The 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  fjgj.  6 1 

young  woman  was  in  a  huge  taking  about  it.  They  say 
she  was  quite  crazy  some  days  for  the  death  of  the 
child ;  and  she  is  not  quite  out  of  the  dumps  yet.  To-be- 
sure,  the  child  was  a  sweet  little  thing ;  but  they  need 
not  make  such  a  rout  about  it.  I'll  war'n'  they'll  have 
enough  of  them  before  they  die." 

"  What  is  the  character  of  the  young  man?  Where  was 
he  born  and  educated?  Has  he  parents  or  brothers?" 

My  companion  was  incapable  of  answering  these  ques 
tions,  and  I  left  him  with  little  essential  addition  to  the 
knowledge  I  already  possessed. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

AFTER  viewing  various  parts  of  the  city,  intruding 
into  churches,  and  diving  into  alleys,  I  returned.  The 
rest  of  the  day  I  spent  chiefly  in  my  chamber,  reflecting 
on  my  new  condition ;  surveying  my  apartment,  its  presses 
and  closets ;  and  conjecturing  the  causes  of  appearances. 

At  dinner  and  supper  I  was  alone.  Venturing  to  in 
quire  of  the  servant  where  his  master  and  mistress  were, 
I  was  answered  that  they  were  engaged.  I  did  not  ques 
tion  him  as  to  the  nature  of  their  engagement,  though  it 
was  a  fertile  source  of  curiosity. 

Next  morning,  at  breakfast,  I  again  met  Welbeck  and 
the  lady.  The  incidents  were  nearly  those  of  the  pre 
ceding  morning,  if  it  were  not  that  the  lady  exhibited 
tokens  of  somewhat  greater  uneasiness.  When  she  left 
us,  Welbeck  sank  into  apparent  meditation.  I  was  at  a 
loss  whether  to  retire  or  remain  where  I  was.  At  last, 
however,  I  was  on  the  point  of  leaving  the  room,  when 
he  broke  silence  and  began  a  conversation  with  me. 

He  put  questions  to  me,  the  obvious  scope  of  which 
was  to  know  my  sentiments  on  moral  topics.  I  had  no 
motives  to  conceal  my  opinions,  and  therefore  delivered 
them  with  frankness.  At  length  he  introduced  allusions 
to  my  own  history,  and  made  more  particular  inquiries 
on  that  head.  Here  I  was  not  equally  frank  ;  yet  I  did 
not  feign  any  thing,  but  merely  dealt  in  generals.  I  had 
acquired  notions  of  propriety  on  this  head,  perhaps  some 
what  fastidious.  Minute  details,  respecting  our  own  con 
cerns,  are  apt  to  weary  all  but  the  narrator  himself.  I 
said  thus  much,  and  the  truth  of  my  remark  was  eagerly 
assented  to. 

With  some  marks  of  hesitation  and  after  various  pre- 
62 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793-  63 

liminaries,  my  companion  hinted  that  my  own  interest, 
as  well  as  his,  enjoined  upon  me  silence  to  all  but  him 
self,  on  the  subject  of  my  birth  and  early  adventures. 
It  was  not  likely  that,  while  in  his  service,  my  circle  of 
acquaintance  would  be  large  or  my  intercourse  with  the 
world  frequent;  but  in  my  communication  with  others 
he  requested  me  to  speak  rather  of  others  than  of  my 
self.  This  request,  he  said,  might  appear  singular  to  me, 
but  he  had  his  reasons  for  making  it,  which  it  wa.s  not 
necessary,  at  present,  to  disclose,  though,  when  I  should 
know  them,  I  should  readily  acknowledge  their  validity. 

I  scarcely  knew  what  answer  to  make.  I  was  willing 
to  oblige  him.  I  was  far  from  expecting  that  any  exi 
gence  would  occur,  making  disclosure  my  duty.  The  em 
ployment  was  productive  of  pain  more  than  of  pleasure, 
and  the  curiosity  that  would  uselessly  seek  a  knowledge 
of  my  past  life  was  no  less  impertinent  than  the  loquacity 
that  would  uselessly  communicate  that  knowledge.  1 
readily  promised,  therefore,  to  adhere  to  his  advice. 

This  assurance  afforded  him  evident  satisfaction ;  yet 
it  did  not  seem  to  amount  to  quite  as  much  as  he  wished. 
He  repeated,  in  stronger  terms,  the  necessity  there  was 
for  caution.  He  was  far  from  suspecting  me  to  possess 
an  impertinent  and  talkative  disposition,  or  that,  in  my 
eagerness  to  expatiate  on  my  own  concerns,  I  should 
overstep  the  limits  of  politeness.  But  this  was  not 
enough.  I  was  to  govern  myself  by  a  persuasion  that 
the  interests  of  my  friend  and  myself  would  be  mate 
rially  affected  by  my  conduct. 

Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  allowed  these  insinuations  to 
breed  suspicion  in  my  mind ;  but,  conscious  as  I  was  of 
the  benefits  which  I  had  received  from  this  man ;  prone, 
from  my  inexperience,  to  rely  upon  professions  and  con 
fide  in  appearances ;  and  unaware  that  I  could  be  placed 
in  any  condition  in  which  mere  silence  respecting  myself 
could  be  injurious  or  criminal,  I  made  no  scruple  to  pro 
mise  compliance  with  his  wishes.  Nay,  I  went  further 
than  this ;  I  desired  to  be  accurately  informed  as  to 
what  it  was  proper  to  conceal.  He  answered  that  my 
silence  might  extend  to  every  thing  anterior  to  my  ar 
rival  in  the  city  and  my  being  incorporated  with  his 


64  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

family.  Here  our  conversation  ended,  and  I  retired  to 
ruminate  on  what  had  passed. 

I  derived  little  satisfaction  from  my  reflections.  I 
began  now  to  perceive  inconveniences  that  might  arise 
from  this  precipitate  promise.  Whatever  should  happen 
in  consequence  of  my  being  immured  in  the  chamber, 
and  of  the  loss  of  my  clothes  and  of  the  portrait  of  my 
friend,  I  had  bound  myself  to  silence.  These  inquie 
tudes,  however,  were  transient.  I  trusted  that  these 
events  would  operate  auspiciously ;  but  my  curiosity  was 
now  awakened  as  to  the  motives  which  Welbeck  could 
have  for  exacting  from  me  this  concealment.  To  act 
under  the  guidance  of  another,  and  to  wander  in  the 
dark,  ignorant  whither  my  path  tended  and  what  effects 
might  flow  from  my  agency,  was  a  new  and  irksome 
situation. 

From  these  thoughts  I  was  recalled  by  a  message  from 
Welbeck.  He  gave  me  a  folded  paper,  which  he  re 
quested  me  to  carry  to  No.  —  South  Fourth  Street. 
"  Inquire,"  said  he,  "  for  Mrs.  Wentworth,  in  order  merely 
to  ascertain  the  house,  for  you  need  not  ask  to  see  her ; 
merely  give  the  letter  to  the  servant  and  retire.  Ex 
cuse  me  for  imposing  this  service  upon  you.  It  is  of  too 
great  moment  to  be  trusted  to  a  common  messenger;  I 
usually  perform  it  myself,  but  am  at  present  otherwise 
engaged." 

I  took  the  letter  and  set  out  to  deliver  it.  This  was  a 
trifling  circumstance,  yet  my  mind  was  full  of  reflections 
on  the  consequences  that  might  flow  from  it.  I  remem 
bered  the  directions  that  were  given,  but  construed  them 
in  a  manner  different,  perhaps,  from  Welbeck's  expecta 
tions  or  wishes.  He  had  charged  me  to  leave  the  billet 
with  the  servant  who  happened  to  answer  my  summons ; 
but  had  he  not  said  that  the  message  was  important,  in 
somuch  that  it  could  not  be  intrusted  to  common  hands? 
He  had  permitted,  rather  than  enjoined,  me  to  dispense 
with  seeing  the  lady ;  and  this  permission  I  conceived  to 
be  dictated  merely  by  regard  to  my  convenience.  It 
was  incumbent  on  me,  therefore,  to  take  some  pains  to 
deliver  the  script  into  her  own  hands. 

I  arrived  at  the  house  and  knocked.     A  female  eer- 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  /7?J.  6$ 

vant  appeared.  "  Her  mistress  was  up-stairs ;  slie  would 
tell  her  if  I  wished  to  see  her,"  and  meanwhile  invited 
me  to  enter  the  parlour ;  I  did  so ;  and  the  girl  retired  to 
inform  her  mistress  that  one  waited  for  her.  I  ought  to 
mention  that  my  departure  from  the  directions  which  I 
hud  received  was,  in  some  degree,  owing  to  an  inquisitive 
temper;  I  was  eager  after  knowledge,  and  was  disposed 
to  profit  by  every  opportunity  to  survey  the  interior  of 
dwellings  and  converse  with  their  inhabitants. 

I  scanned  the  walls,  the  furniture,  the  pictures.  Over 
the  fireplace  was  a  portrait  in  oil  of  a  female.  She  was 
elderly  and  matron-like.  Perhaps  she  was  the  mistress 
of  this  habitation,  and  the  person  to  whom  I  should  im 
mediately  be  introduced.  Was  it  a  casual  suggestion, 
or  was  there  an  actual  resemblance  between  the  strokes 
of  the  pencil  which  executed  this  portrait  and  that  of 
Clavering  ?  However  that  be,  the  sight  of  this  picture 
revived  the  memory  of  my  friend  and  called  up  a  fugi 
tive  suspicion  that  this  was  the  production  of  his  skill. 

I  was  busily  revolving  this  idea  when  the  lady  herself 
entered.  It  was  the  same  whose  portrait  I  had  been 
examining.  She  fixed  scrutinizing  and  powerful  eyes 
upon  me.  She  looked  at  the  superscription  of  the  letter 
which  I  presented,  and  immediately  resumed  her  exa 
mination  of  me.  I  was  somewhat  abashed  by  the  close 
ness  of  her  observation,  and  gave  tokens  of  this  state  of 
mind  which  did  not  pass  unobserved.  They  seemed  in 
stantly  to  remind  her  that  she  behaved  with  too  little 
regard  to  civility.  She  recovered  herself  and  began  to 
peruse  the  letter.  Having  done  this,  her  attention  was 
once  more  fixed  upon  me.  She  was  evidently  desirous 
of  entering  into  some  conversation,  but  seemed  at  a  loss 
in  what  manner  to  begin.  This  situation  was  new  to  me 
and  was  productive  of  no  small  embarrassment.  I  was 
preparing  to  take  my  leave  when  she  spoke,  though  not 
without  considerable  hesitation  : — 

"  This  letter  is  from  Mr.  Welbeck — you  are  his  friend 
— I  presume — perhaps — a  relation  ?" 

I  was  conscious  that  I  had  no  claim  to  either  of  these 
titles,  and  that  I  was  no  more  than  his  servant.  My 
5 


66  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

pride  would  not  allow  me  to  acknowledge  this,  and  I 
merely  said,  "I  live  with  him  at  present,  madam." 

I  imagined  that  this  answer  did  not  perfectly  satisfy 
her;  yet  she  received  it  with  a  certain  air  of  acqui 
escence.  She  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then, 
rising,  said,  "Excuse  me,  sir,  for  a  few  minutes.  I  will 
write  a  few  words  to  Mr.  Welbeck."  So  saying,  she 
withdrew. 

I  returned  to  the  contemplation  of  the  picture.  From 
this,  however,  my  attention  was  quickly  diverted  by  a 
paper  that  lay  on  the  mantel.  A  single  glance  was 
sufficient  to  put  my  blood  into  motion.  I  started,  and 
laid  my  hand  upon  the  well-known  packet.  It  was  that 
which  enclosed  the  portrait  of  Clavering  ! 

I  unfolded  and  examined  it  with  eagerness.  By  what 
miracle  came  it  hither  ?  It  was  found,  together  with  my 
bundle,  two  nights  before.  I  had  despaired  of  ever  see 
ing  it  again,  and  yet  here  was  the  same  portrait  enclosed 
in  the  selfsame  paper  !  I  have  forborne  to  dwell  upon 
the  regret,  amounting  to  grief,  with  which  I  was  affected 
in  consequence  of  the  loss  of  this  precious  relic.  My 
joy  on  thus  speedily  and  unexpectedly  regaining  it  is 
not  easily  described. 

For  a  time  I  did  not  reflect  that  to  hold  it  thus  in  my 
hand  was  not  sufficient  to  entitle  me  to  repossession.  I 
must  acquaint  this  lady  with  the  history  of  this  picture, 
and  convince  her  of  my  ownership.  But  how  was  this 
to  be  done  ?  Was  she  connected  in  any  way,  by  friend 
ship  or  by  consanguinity,  with  that  unfortunate  youth. 
If  she  were,  some  information  as  to  his  destiny  would  be 
anxiously  sought.  I  did  not,  just  then,  perceive  any 
impropriety  in  imparting  it.  If  it  came  into  her  hands 
by  accident,  still,  it  will  be  necessary  to  relate  the  mode 
in  which  it  was  lost  in  order  to  prove  my  title  to  it. 

I  now  heard  her  descending  footsteps,  and  hastily 
replaced  the  picture  on  the  mantel.  She  entered,  and, 
jitvsenting  me  a  letter,  desired  me  to  deliver  it  to  Mr. 
Welbeck.  I  had  no  pretext  for  deferring  my  departure, 
but  was  unwilling  to  go  without  obtaining  possession  of 
the  portrait.  An  interval  of  silence  and  irresolution 
succeeded.  I  cast  significant  glances  at  the  spot  where 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  6/ 

it  lay,  and  at  length  mustered  up  my  strength  of  mind, 
and,  pointing  to  the  paper, — "  Madam,"  said  I,  "there  is 
something  which  I  recognise  to  be  mine :  I  know  not  how 
it  came  into  your  possession,  but  so  lately  as  the  day 
before  yesterday  it  was  in  mine.  I  lost  it  by  a  strange 
accident,  and,  as  I  deem  it  of  inestimable  value,  I  hope 
you  will  have  no  objection  to  restore  it." 

During  this  speech  the  lady's  countenance  exhibited 
marks  of  the  utmost  perturbation.  "Your  picture!" 
she  exclaimed;  "you  lost  it!  How?  Where?  Did 
you  know  that  person  ?  What  has  become  of  him?" 

"I  knew  him  well,"  said  I.  "That  picture  was  exe 
cuted  by  himself.  He  gave  it  to  me  with  his  own  hands ; 
and,  till  the  moment  I  unfortunately  lost  it,  it  was  my 
dear  and  perpetual  companion." 

"  Good  heaven !"  she  exclaimed,  with  increasing 
vehemence;  "  where  did  you  meet  with  him  ?  What  has 
become  of  him?  Is  he  dead,  or  alive?" 

These  appearances  sufficiently  showed  me  that  Clave- 
ring  and  this  lady  were  connected  by  some  ties  of  ten 
derness.  I  answered  that  he  was  dead ;  that  my  mother 
and  myself  were  his  attendants  and  nurses,  and  that  this 
portrait  was  his  legacy  to  me. 

This  intelligence  melted  her  into  tears,  and  it  was 
some  time  before  she  recovered  strength  enough  to  re 
sume  the  conversation.  She  then  inquired,  "When  and 
where  was  it  that  he  died  ?  How  did  you  lose  this  por 
trait  ?  It  was  found  wrapped  in  some  coarse  clothes,  lying 
in  a  stall  in  the  market-house,  on  Saturday  evening. 
Two  negro  women,  servants  of  one  of  my  friends,  stroll 
ing  through  the  market,  found  it  and  brought  it  to  their 
mistress,  who,  recognising  the  portrait,  sent  it  to  me. 
To  whom  did  that  bundle  belong  ?  Was  it  yours  ?" 

These  questions  reminded  me  of  the  painful  predica 
ment  in  which  I  now  stood.  I  had  promised  Welbeck  to 
conceal  from  every  one  my  former  condition  ;  but  to 
explain  in  what  manner  this  bundle  was  lost,  and  how 
my  intercourse  with  Clavering  had  taken  place,  was  to 
violate  this  promise.  It  was  possible,  perhaps,  to  escape 
the  confession  of  the  truth  by  equivocation.  Falsehoods 
were  easily  invented,  and  might  lead  her  far  away  from 


68  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

my  true  condition ;  but  I  was  wholly  unused  to  equivo 
cation.  Never  yet  had  a  lie  polluted  my  lips.  I  was 
not  weak  enough  to  be  ashamed  of  my  origin.  This 
lady  had  an  interest  in  the  fate  of  Clavering,  and  might 
justly  claim  all  the  information  which  I  was  able  to  im 
part.  Yet  to  forget  the  compact  which  I  had  so  lately 
made,  and  an  adherence  to  which  might  possibly  be  in 
the  highest  degree  beneficial  to  me  and  to  Welbeck ;  I 
was  willing  to  adhere  to  it,  provided  falsehood  could  be 
avoided. 

These  thoughts  rendered  me  silent.  The  pain  of  my 
embarrassment  amounted  almost  to  agony.  I  felt  the 
keenest  regret  at  my  own  precipitation  in  claiming  the 
picture.  Its  value  to  me  was  altogether  imaginary.  The 
affection  which  this  lady  had  borne  the  original,  what 
ever  was  the  source  of  that  affection,  would  prompt  her 
to  cherish  the  copy,  and,  however  precious  it  was  in  my 
eyes,  I  should  cheerfully  resign  it  to  her. 

In  the  confusion  of  my  thoughts  an  expedient  suggested 
itself  sufficiently  inartificial  and  bold.  "It  is  true, 
madam,  what  I  have  said.  I  saw  him  breathe  his  last. 
This  is  his  only  legacy.  If  you  wish  it  I  willingly  re 
sign  it;  but  this  is  all  that  I  can  now  disclose.  I  am 
placed  in  circumstances  which  render  it  improper  to  say 
more." 

These  words  were  uttered  not  very  distinctly,  and  the 
lady's  vehemence  hindered  her  from  noticing  them.  She 
again  repeated  her  interrogations,  to  which  I  returned 
the  same  answer. 

At  first  she  expressed  the  utmost  surprise  at  my  conduct. 
From  this  she  descended  to  some  degree  of  asperity. 
She  made  rapid  allusions  to  the  history  of  Clavering. 
He  was  the  son  of  the  gentleman  who  owned  the  house 
in  which  Welbeck  resided.  He  was  the  object  of  immea 
surable  fondness  and  indulgence.  He  had  sought  per 
mission  to  travel,  and,  this  being  refused  by  the  absurd 
timidity  of  his  parents,  he  had  twice  been  frustrated  in 
attempting  to  embark  for  Europe  clandestinely.  They 
ascribed  his  disappearance  to  a  third  and  successful 
attempt  of  this  kind,  and  had  exercised  anxious  and  un 
wearied  diligence  in  endeavouring  to  trace  his  footsteps. 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR   1793.  69 

All  their  efforts  had  failed.  One  motive  for  their  return 
ing  to  Europe  was  the  hope  of  discovering  some  traces 
of  him,  as  they  entertained  no  doubt  of  his  having 
crossed  the  ocean.  The  vehemence  of  Mrs.  Wcntworth's 
curiosity  as  to  those  particulars  of  his  life  and  death  may 
be  easily  conceived.  My  refusal  only  heightened  this 
passion. 

Finding  me  refractory  to  all  her  efforts,  she  at  length 
dismissed  me  in  anger. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THIS  extraordinary  interview  was  now  past.  Plea 
sure  as  well  as  pain  attended  my  reflections  on  it.  I 
adhered  to  the  promise  I  had  improvidently  given  to 
Welbeck,  but  had  excited  displeasure,  and  perhaps  sus 
picion,  in  the  lady.  She  would  find  it  hard  to  account 
for  my  silence.  She  would  probably  impute  it  to  per- 
verseness,  or  imagine  it  to  flow  from  some  incident  con 
nected  with  the  death  of  Clavering,  calculated  to  give 
a  new  edge  to  her  curiosity. 

It  was  plain  that  some  connection  subsisted  between  her 
and  Welbeck.  Would  she  drop  the  subject  at  the  point 
which  it  had  now  attained?  Would  she  cease  to  exert 
herself  to  extract  from  me  the  desired  information,  or 
would  she  not  rather  make  Welbeck  a  party  in  the  cause, 
and  prejudice  my  new  friend  against  me?  This  was  an 
evil  proper,  by  all  lawful  means,  to  avoid.  I  knew  of 
no  other  expedient  than  to  confess  to  him  the  truth  with 
regard  to  Clavering,  and  explain  to  him  the  dilemma 
in  which  my  adherence  to  my  promise  had  involved  me. 

I  found  him  on  my  return  home,  and  delivered  him  the 
letter  with  which  I  was  charged.  At  the  sight  of  it,  sur 
prise,  mingled  with  some  uneasiness,  appeared  in  his 
looks.  "What!"  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  disappointment, 
"you  then  saw  the  lady?" 

I  now  remembered  his  directions  to  leave  my  message 
at  the  door,  and  apologized  for  my  neglecting  them  by 
telling  my  reasons.  His  chagrin  vanished,  but  not  with 
out  an  apparent  effort,  and  he  said  that  all  was  well ;  the 
affair  was  of  no  moment. 

After  a  pause  of  preparation,  I  entreated  his  atten 
tion  to  something  which  I  had  to  relate.  I  then  detailed 
70 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR   1793.  "J\ 

the  history  of  Clavering  and  of  my  late  embarrassments. 
As  I  went  on,  his  countenance  betokened  increasing 
solicitude.  His  emotion  was  particularly  strong  when. I 
came  to  the  interrogatories  of  Mrs.  Wentworth  in  rela 
tion  to  Clavering ;  but  this  emotion  gave  way  to  profound 
surprise  when  I  related  the  manner  in  which  I  had  eluded 
her  inquiries.  I  concluded  with  observing  that,  when  I 
promised  forbearance  on  the  subject  of  my  own  adventures, 
I  had  not  foreseen  any  exigence  which  would  make  an 
adherence  to  my  promise  difficult  or  inconvenient;  that, 
if  his  interest  was  promoted  by  my  silence,  I  was  still 
willing  to  maintain  it,  and  requested  his  directions  how 
to  conduct  myself  on  this  occasion. 

He  appeared  to  ponder  deeply  and  with  much  per 
plexity  oh  what  I  had  said.  When  he  spoke  there  was 
hesitation  in  his  manner  and  circuity  in  his  expressions, 
that  proved  him  to  have  something  in  his  thoughts  which 
he  knew  not  how  to  communicate.  He  frequently  paused ; 
but  my  answers  and  remarks,  occasionally  given,  appeared 
to  deter  him  from  the  revelation  of  his  purpose.  Our  dis 
course  ended,  for  the  present,  by  his  desiring  me  to  per 
sist  in  my  present  plan ;  I  should  suffer  no  inconveniences 
from  it,  since  it  would  be  my  own  fault  if  an  interview 
again  took  place  between  the  lady  and  me;  meanwhile 
he  should  see  her  and  effectually  silence  her  inquiries. 

I  ruminated  not  superficially  or  briefly  on  this  dialogue. 
By  what  means  would  he  silence  her  inquiries?  He 
Burely  meant  not  to  mislead  her  by  fallacious  representa 
tions.  Some  inquietude  now  crept  into  my  thoughts.  I 
began  to  form  conjectures  as  to  the  nature  of  the  scheme 
to  which  my  suppression  of  the  truth  was  to  be  thus 
made  subservient.  It  seemed  as  if  I  were  walking  in 
the  dark  and  might  rush  into  snares  or  drop  into  pits 
before  I  was  aware  of  my  danger.  Each  moment 
accumulated  my  doubts,  and  I  cherished  a  secret  fore 
boding  that  the  event  would  prove  my  new  situation  to 
be  far  less  fortunate  than  I  had,  at  first,  fondly  believed. 
The  question  now  occurred,  with  painful  repetition,  who 
and  what  was  Wclbeck?  What  was  his  relation  to  thia 
foreign  lady?  What  was  the  service  for  which  I  was  to 
be  employed? 


72  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

I  could  not  be  contented  without  a  solution  of  these 
mysteries.  Why  should  I  not  lay  my  soul  open  before 
my  new  friend  ?  Considering  my  situation,  would  he  re 
gard  my  fears  and  my  surmises  as  criminal?  1  felt  that 
they  originated  in  laudable  habits  and  views.  My  peace 
of  mind  depended  on  the  favourable  verdict  which  con 
science  should  pass  on  my  proceedings.  I  saw  the  empti 
ness  of  fame  and  luxury,  when  put  in  the  balance  against 
the  recompense  of  virtue.  Never  would  I  purchase  the 
blandishments  of  adulation  and  the  glare  of  opulence  at 
the  price  of  my  honesty. 

Amidst  these  reflections  the  dinner-hour  arrived.  The 
lady  and  Welbeck  were  present.  A  new  train  of  senti 
ments  now  occupied  my  mind.  I  regarded  them  both  with 
inquisitive  eyes.  I  cannot  well  account  for  the  revolu 
tion  which  had  taken  place  in  my  mind.  Perhaps  it  was 
a  proof  of  the  capriciousness  of  my  temper,  or  it  was 
merely  the  fruit  of  my  profound  ignorance  of  life  and 
manners.  Whencesoever  it  arose,  certain  it  is  that  I 
contemplated  the  scene  before  me  with  altered  eyes.  Its 
order  and  pomp  was  no  longer  the  parent  of  tranquillity 
and  awe.  My  wild  reveries  of  inheriting  this  splendour 
and  appropriating  the  affections  of  this  nymph,  I  now 
regarded  as  lunatic  hope  and  childish  folly.  Education 
and  nature  had  qualified  me  for  a  different  scene.  This 
might  be  the  mask  of  misery  and  the  structure  of  vice. 

My  companions  as  well  as  myself  were  silent  during 
the  meal.  The  lady  retired  as  soon  as  it  was  finished. 
My  inexplicable  melancholy  increased.  It  did  not  pass 
unnoticed  by  Welbeck,  who  inquired,  with  an  air  of 
kindness,  into  the  cause  of  my  visible  dejection.  I  am 
almost  ashamed  to  relate  to  what  extremes  my  folly  trans 
ported  me.  Instead  of  answering  him,  I  was  weak 
enough  to  shed  tears. 

This  excited  afresh  his  surprise  and  his  sympathy. 
He  renewed  his  inquiries;  my  heart  was  full,  but  how  to 
disburden  it  I  knew  not.  At  length,  with  some  difficulty, 
I  expressed  my  wishes  to  leave  his  house  and  return  into 
the  country. 

What,  he  asked,  had  occurred  to  suggest  this  new  plan  ? 
What  motive  could  incite  me  to  bury  myself  in  rustic 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  73 

obscurity?  How  did  I  purpose  to  dispose  of  myself? 
Had  some  new  friend  sprung  up  more  able  or  more  will 
ing  to  benefit  me  than  he  had  been? 

"No,"  I  answered,  "I  have  no  relation  who  would 
own  me,  or  friend  who  would  protect.  If  I  went  into 
the  country  it  would  be  to  the  toilsome  occupations  of  a 
day-labourer;  but  even  that  was  better  than  my  present 
situation." 

This  opinion,  he  observed,  must  be  newly  formed. 
What  was  there  irksome  or  offensive  in  my  present  mode 
of  life? 

That  this  man  condescended  to  expostulate  with  me ; 
to  dissuade  me  from  my  new  plan  ;  and  to  enumerate  the 
benefits  which  he  was  willing  to  confer,  penetrated  my 
heart  with  gratitude.  I  could  not  but  acknowledge  that 
leisure  and  literature,  copious  and  elegant  accommoda 
tion,  were  valuable  for  their  own  sake ;  that  all  the  de 
lights  of  sensation  and  refinements  of  intelligence  were 
comprised  within  my  present  sphere,  and  would  be  nearly 
wanting  in  that  to  which  I  was  going.  I  felt  temporary 
compunction  for  my  folly,  and  determined  to  adopt  a  dif 
ferent  deportment.  I  could  not  prevail  upon  myself  to 
unfold  the  true  cause  of  my  dejection,  and  permitted  him 
therefore  to  ascribe  it  to  a  kind  of  homesickness ;  to 
inexperience ;  and  to  that  ignorance  which,  on  being 
ushered  into  a  new  scene,  is  oppressed  with  a  sensation 
of  forlornness.  He  remarked  that  these  chimeras  would 
vanish  before  the  influence  of  time,  and  company,  and 
occupation.  On  the  next  week  he  would  furnish  me  with 
employment ;  meanwhile  he  would  introduce  me  into 
company,  where  intelligence  and  vivacity  would  combine 
to  dispel  my  glooms. 

As  soon  as  we  separated,  my  disquietudes  returned.  I 
contended  with  them  in  vain,  and  finally  resolved  to  aban 
don  my  present  situation.  When  and  how  this  purpose 
was  to  be  effected  I  knew  not.  That  was  to  be  the  theme 
of  future  deliberation. 

Evening  having  arrived,  Welbcck  proposed  to  me  to 
accompany  me  on  a  visit  to  one  of  his  friends.  I  cheer 
fully  accepted  the  invitation,  and  went  with  him  to  your 
friend  Mr.  Wortley's.  A  numerous  party  was  assembled, 


74  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

chiefly  of  the  female  sex.  I  was  introduced  by  Welbeck 
by  the  title  of  a  young  friend  of  his.  Notwithstanding 
my  embarrassment,  I  did  not  fail  to  attend  to  what 
passed  on  this  occasion.  I  remarked  that  the  utmost 
deference  was  paid  to  my  companion,  on  whom  his  en 
trance  into  this  company  appeared  to  operate  like  magic. 
His  eyes  sparkled ;  his  features  expanded  into  a  benign 
serenity ;  and  his  wonted  reserve  gave  place  to  a  torrent- 
like  and  overflowing  elocution. 

I  marked  this  change  in  his  deportment  with  the  utmost 
astonishment.  So  great  was  it,  that  I  could  hardly  per 
suade  myself  that  it  was  the  same  person.  A  mind  thus 
susceptible  of  new  impressions  must  be,  I  conceived,  of 
a  wonderful  texture.  Nothing  was  further  from  my  ex 
pectations  than  that  this  vivacity  was  mere  dissimulation 
and  would  take  its  leave  of  him  when  he  left  the  com 
pany  ;  yet  this  I  found  to  be  the  case.  The  door  was  no 
sooner  closed  after  him  than  his  accustomed  solemnity 
returned.  He  spake  little,  and  that  little  was  delivered 
with  emphatical  and  monosyllabic  brevity. 

We  returned  home  at  a  late  hour,  and  I  immediately 
retired  to  my  chamber,  not  so  much  from  the  desire  of 
repose  as  in  order  to  enjoy  and  pursue  my  own  reflec 
tions  without  interruption. 

The  condition  of  my  mind  was  considerably  remote 
from  happiness.  I  was  placed  in  a  scene  that  furnished 
fuel  to  my  curiosity.  This  passion  is  a  source  of  plea 
sure,  provided  its  gratification  be  practicable.  I  had  no 
reason,  in  my  present  circumstances,  to  despair  of  know 
ledge  ;  yet  suspicion  and  anxiety  besot  me.  I  thought 
upon  the  delay  and  toil  which  the  removal  of  my  igno 
rance  would  cost,  and  reaped  only  pain  and  fear  from 
tho  reflection. 

The  air  was  remarkably  sultry.  Lifted  sashes  and 
lofty  ceilings  were  insufficient  to  attemper  it.  The  per 
turbation  of  my  thoughts  affected  my  body,  and  the  heat 
which  oppressed  me  was  aggravated,  by  my  restlessness, 
almost  into  fever.  Some  hours  were  thus  painfully  past, 
when  I  recollected  that  the  bath,  erected  in  the  court 
below,  contained  a  sufficient  antidote  to  the  pcorching 
influence  of  the  atmosphere. 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR   /7?J.  75 

I  rose,  and  descended  the  stairs  softly,  that  I  might 
not  alarm  Wclbeck  and  the  lady,  who  occupied  the  two 
rooms  on  the  second  floor.  I  proceeded  to  the  bath,  and, 
filling  the  reservoir  with  water,  speedily  dissipated  the 
heat  that  incommoded  me.  Of  all  species  of  sensual 
gratification,  that  was  the  most  delicious ;  and  I  con 
tinued  for  a  long  time  laving  my  limbs  and  moistening 
my  hair.  In  the  midst  of  this  amusement,  I  noticed  the 
approach  of  day,  and  immediately  saw  the  propriety  of 
returning  to  my  chamber.  I  returned  with  the  same 
caution  which  I  had  used  in  descending ;  my  feet  were 
bare,  so  that  it  was  easy  to  proceed  unattended  by  the 
smallest  signal  of  my  progress. 

I  had  reached  the  carpeted  staircase,  and  was  slowly 
ascending,  when  I  heard,  within  the  chamber  that  was 
occupied  by  the  lady,  a  noise,  as  of  some  one  moving. 
Though  not  conscious  of  having  acted  improperly,  yet  I 
felt  reluctance  to  be  seen.  There  was  no  reason  to  sup 
pose  that  this  sound  was  connected  with  the  detection  of 
me  in  this  situation ;  yet  I  acted  as  if  this  reason  ex 
isted,  and  made  haste  to  pass  the  door  and  gain  the 
second  flight  of  steps. 

I  was  unable  to  accomplish  my  design,  when  the  cham 
ber  door  slowly  opened,  and  Welbeck,  with  a  light  in  his 
hand,  came  out.  I  was  abashed  and  disconcerted  at  this 
interview.  He  started  at  seeing  me  ;  but,  discovering  in 
an  instant  who  it  was,  his  face  assumed  an  expression  in 
which  shame  and  anger  were  powerfully  blended.  He 
seemed  on  the  point  of  opening  his  mouth  to  rebuke  me ; 
but,  suddenly  checking  himself,  he  said,  in  a  tone  of 
mildness,  "  How  is  this  ?  Whence  come  you  ?" 

His  emotion  seemed  to  communicate  itself,  with  an 
electrical  rapidity,  to  my  heart.  My  tongue  faltered 
while  I  made  some  answer.  I  said,  "  I  had  been  seek 
ing  relief  from  the  heat  of  the  weather,  in  the  bath." 
He  heard  my  explanation  in  silence ;  and,  after  a  mo 
ment's  pause,  passed  into  his  own  room,  and  shut  him 
self  in.  I  hastened  to  my  chamber. 

A  different  observer  might  have  found  in  these  cir 
cumstances  no  food  for  his  suspicion  or  his  wonder. 


76  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

To  me,  however,  they  suggested  vague  and  tumultuous 
ideas. 

As  I  strode  across  the  room  I  repeated,  "  This  woman 
is  his  daughter.  What  proof  have  I  of  that  ?  He  once 
asserted  it ;  and  has  frequently  uttered  allusions  and 
hints  from  which  no  other  inference  could  he  drawn. 
The  chamber  from  which  he  came,  in  an  hour  devoted  to 
sleep,  was  hers.  For  what  end  could  a  visit  like  this  be 
paid  ?  A  parent  may  visit  his  child  at  all  seasons,  with 
out  a  crime.  On  seeing  me,  methought  his  features  in 
dicated  more  than  surprise.  A  keen  interpreter  would 
be  apt  to  suspect  a  consciousness  of  wrong.  What  if 
this  woman  be  not  his  child !  How  shall  their  relation 
ship  be  ascertained?" 

I  was  summoned  at  the  customary  hour  to  breakfast. 
My  mind  was  full  of  ideas  connected  with  this  incident. 
I  was  not  endowed  with  sufficient  firmness  to  propose  the 
cool  and  systematic  observation  of  this  man's  deportment. 
I  felt  as  if  the  state  of  my  mind  could  not  but  be  evident 
to  him ;  and  experienced  in  myself  all  the  confusion  which 
this  discovery  was  calculated  to  produce  in  him.  I  would 
have  willingly  excused  myself  from  meeting  him ;  but 
that  was  impossible. 

At  breakfast,  after  the  usual  salutations,  nothing  was 
said.  For  a  time  I  scarcely  lifted  my  eyes  from  the  table. 
Stealing  a  glance  at  Welbeck,  I  discovered  in  his  fea 
tures  nothing  but  his  wonted  gravity.  He  appeared  oc 
cupied  with  thoughts  that  had  no  relation  to  last  night's 
adventure.  This  encouraged  me;  and  I  gradually  reco 
vered  my  composure.  Their  inattention  to  me  allowed 
me  occasionally  to  throw  scrutinizing  and  comparing 
glances  at  the  face  of  each. 

The  relationship  of  parent  and  child  is  commonly  dis 
covered  in  the  visage;  but  the  child  may  resemble  either 
of  its  parents,  yet  have  no  feature  in  common  with  both. 
Here  outlines,  surfaces,  and  hues  were  in  absolute  con 
trariety.  That  kindred  subsisted  between  them  was  pos 
sible,  notwithstanding  this  dissimilitude;  but  this  circum 
stance  contributed  to  envenom  my  suspicions. 

Breakfast  being  finished,  Welbeck  cast  an  eye  of  invi 
tation  to  the  piano-forte.  The  lady  rose  to  comply  with 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  /7?J.  ?/ 

his  request.  My  eye  chanced  to  be,  at  that  moment, 
fixed  on  her.  In  stepping  to  the  instrument,  some  motion 
or  appearance  awakened  a  thought  in  my  mind  which 
affected  my  feelings  like  the  shock  of  an  earthquake. 

I  have  too  slight  acquaintance  with  the  history  of  the 
passions  to  truly  explain  the  emotion  which  now  throbbed 
in  my  veins.  I  had  been  a  stranger  to  what  is  called 
love.  From  subsequent  reflection,  I  have  contracted  a 
suspicion  that  the  sentiment  with  which  I  regarded  this 
lady  was  not  untiricturcd  from  this  source,  and  that  hence 
arose  the  turbulence  of  my  feelings  on  observing  what  I 
construed  into  marks  of  pregnancy.  The  evidence  af 
forded  me  was  slight ;  yet  it  exercised  an  absolute  sway 
over  my  belief. 

It  was  well  that  this  suspicion  had  not  been  sooner 
excited.  Now  civility  did  not  require  my  stay  in  the 
apartment,  and  nothing  but  flight  could  conceal  the 
state  of  my  mind.  I  hastened,  therefore,  to  a  distance, 
and  shrouded  myself  in  the  friendly  secrecy  of  my  own 
chamber. 

The  constitution  of  my  mind  is  doubtless  singular  and 
perverse ;  yet  that  opinion,  perhaps,  is  the  fruit  of  my 
ignorance.  It  may  by  no  means  be  uncommon  for  men 
to  fashion  their  conclusions  in  opposition  to  evidence  and 
probability,  and  so  as  to  feed  their  malice  and  subvert 
their  happiness.  Thus  it  was,  in  an  eminent  degree,  in 
my  case.  The  simple  fact  was  connected,  in  my  mind, 
with  a  train  of  the  most  hateful  consequences.  The  de 
pravity  of  Welbeck  was  inferred  from  it.  The  charms 
of  this  angelic  woman  were  tarnished  and  withered.  I 
had  formerly  surveyed  her  as  a  precious  and  perfect 
monument,  but  now  it  was  a  scene  of  ruin  and  blast. 

This  had  been  a  source  of  sufficient  anguish ;  but  this 
was  not  all.  I  recollected  that  the  claims  of  a  parent 
had  been  urged.  Will  you  believe  that  these  claims 
were  now  admitted,  and  that  they  heightened  the 
iniquity  of  Welbeck  into  the  blackest  and  most  stupen 
dous  of  all  crimes  ?  These  ideas  were  necessarily  tran 
sient.  Conclusions  more  conformable  to  appearances 
succeeded.  This  lady  might  have  been  lately  reduced 
to  widowhood.  The  recent  loss  of  a  beloved  companion 


78  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

would  sufficiently  account  for  her  dejection,  and  make 
her  present  situation  compatible  with  duty. 

By  this  new  train  of  ideas  I  was  somewhat  comforted. 
I  saw  the  folly  of  precipitate  inferences  and  the  injustice 
of  my  atrocious  imputations,  and  acquired  some  degree 
of  patience  in  my  present  state  of  uncertainty.  My 
heart  was  lightened  of  its  wonted  burden,  and  I  laboured 
to  invent  some  harmless  explication  of  the  scene  that  I 
had  witnessed  the  preceding  night. 

At  dinner  Welbeck  appeared  as  usual,  but  not  the 
lady.  I  ascribed  her  absence  to  some  casual  indisposi 
tion,  and  ventured  to  inquire  into  the  state  of  her  health. 
My  companion  said  she  was  well,  but  that  she  had  left 
the  city  for  a  month  or  two,  finding  the  heat  of  summer 
inconvenient  where  she  was.  This  was  no  unplausible 
reason  for  retirement.  A  candid  mind  would  have  ac 
quiesced  in  this  representation,  and  found  in  it  nothing 
inconsistent  with  a  supposition  respecting  the  cause  of 
appearances  favourable  to  her  character ;  but  otherwise 
was  I  affected.  The  uneasiness  which  had  flown  for  a 
moment  returned,  and  I  sunk  into  gloomy  silence. 

From  this  I  was  roused  by  my  patron,  who  requested 
me  to  deliver  a  billet,  which  he  put  into  my  hand,  at  the 
counting-house  of  Mr.  Thetford.  and  to  bring  him  an 
answer.  This  message  was  speedily  performed.  I  en 
tered  a  large  building  by  the  river-side.  A  spacious 
apartment  presented  itself,  well  furnished  with  pipes 
and  hogsheads.  In  one  corner  was  a  smaller  room,  in 
which  a  gentleman  was  busy  at  writing.  I  advanced  to 
the  door  of  the  room,  but  was  there  met  by  a  young 
person,  who  received  my  paper  and  delivered  it  to  him 
within.  I  stood  still  at  the  door ;  but  was  near  enough 
to  overhear  what  would  pass  between  them. 

The  letter  was  l.iid  upon  the  desk,  and  presently  he 
that  sat  at  it  lifted  his  eyes  and  glanced  at  the  super 
scription.  He  scarcely  spoke  above  a  whisper ;  but  his 
words,  nevertheless,  were  clearly  distinguishable.  I  did 
not  call  to  mind  the  sound  of  his  voice,  but  his  words 
called  up  a  train  of  recollections. 

"Lo  !"  said  he,  carelessly,  "this  from  the  Nabob!" 

An  incident  so  alight  as  this  was  sufficient  to  open  a 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  /79J.  79 

spacious  scene  of  meditation.  This  little  word,  half 
whispered  in  a  thoughtless  mood,  was  a  key  to  unlock 
an  extensive  cabinet  of  secrets.  Thetford  was  probably 
indifferent  whether  his  exclamation  were  overheard 
Little  did  he  think  on  the  inferences  which  would  be 
built  upon  it. 

"The  Nabob!"  By  this  appellation  had  some  one 
been  denoted  in  the  chamber  dialogue  of  which  I  had 
been  an  unsuspected  auditor.  The  man  who  pretended 
poverty,  and  yet  gave  proofs  of  inordinate  wealth ; 
whom  it  was  pardonable  to  defraud  of  thirty  thousand 
dollars ;  first,  because  the  loss  of  that  sum  would  be 
trivial  to  one  opulent  as  he ;  and,  secondly,  because  he 
was  imagined  to  have  acquired  this  opulence  by  other 
than  honest  methods.  Instead  of  forthwith  returning 
home,  I  wandered  into  the  fields,  to  indulge  myself  in  the 
new  thoughts  which  were  produced  by  this  occurrence. 

I  entertained  no  doubt  that  the  person  alluded  to  was 
iny  patron.  No  new  light  was  thrown  upon  his  charac 
ter  ;  unless  something  were  deducible  from  the  charge 
vaguely  made,  that  his  wealth  was  the  fruit  of  illicit 
practices.  lie  was  opulent,  and  the  sources  of  his  wealth 
were  unknown,  if  not  to  the  rest  of  the  community,  at 
least  to  Thetford.  But  here  had  a  plot  been  laid.  The 
fortune  of  Thetford's  brother  was  to  rise  from  the  success 
of  artifices  of  which  the  credulity  of  Welbeck  was  to  be 
the  victim.  To  detect  and  to  counterwork  this  plot  was 
obviously  my  duty.  My  interference  might  now  indeed 
be  too  late  to  be  useful ;  but  this  was  at  least  to  be  ascer 
tained  by  experiment. 

How  should  my  intention  be  effected  ?  I  had  hitherto 
concealed  from  Welbeck  my  adventures  at  Thetford'a 
house.  These  it  was  now  necessary  to  disclose,  and  to 
mention  the  recent  occurrence.  My  deductions,  in  con 
sequence  of  my  ignorance,  might  be  erroneous ;  but  of 
their  truth  his  knowledge  of  his  own  affairs  would  enable 
him  to  judge.  It  was  possible  that  Thetford  and  he 
whose  chamber  conversation  I  had  overheard  were  dif 
ferent  persons.  I  endeavoured  in  vain  to  ascertain  their 
identity  by  a  comparison  of  their  voices.  The  words 


8O  ARTHUR  MERVYN. 

lately  heard,  my  remembrance  did  not  enable  me  cer 
tainly  to  pronounce  to  be  uttered  by  the  same  organs. 

This  uncertainty  was  of  little  moment.  It  sufficed 
that  Welbeck  was  designated  by  this  appellation,  and 
that  therefore  he  was  proved  to  be  the  subject  of  some 
fraudulent  proceeding.  The  information  that  I  pos 
sessed  it  was  my  duty  to  communicate  as  expeditiously 
as  possible.  I  was  resolved  to  employ  the  first  oppor 
tunity  that  offered  for  this  end. 

My  meditations  had  been  ardently  pursued,  and,  when 
I  recalled  my  attention,  I  found  myself  bewildered  among 
fields  and  fences.  It  was  late  before  I  extricated  myself 
from  unknown  paths,  and  reached  home. 

I  entered  the  parlour ;  but  Welbeck  was  not  there. 
A  table,  with  tea-equipage  for  one  person,  was  set ;  from 
which  I  inferred  that  Welbeck  was  engaged  abroad.  This 
belief  was  confirmed  by  the  report  of  the  servant.  He 
could  not  inform  me  where  his  master  was,  but  merely 
that  he  should  not  take  tea  at  home.  This  incident  was 
a  source  of  vexation  and  impatience.  I  knew  not  but 
that  delay  would  be  of  the  utmost  moment  to  the  safety 
of  my  friend.  Wholly  unacquainted  as  I  was  with  the 
nature  of  his  contracts  with  Thetford,  I  could  not  decide 
whether  a  single  hour  would  not  avail  to  obviate  the  evils 
that  threatened  him.  Had  I  known  whither  to  trace  his 
footsteps,  I  should  certainly  have  sought  an  immediate 
interview  ;  but,  as  it  was,  I  was  obliged  to  wait,  with  what 
patience  I  could  collect,  for  his  return  to  his  own  house. 

I  waited  hour  after  hour  in  vain.  The  sun  declined, 
and  the  shades  of  evening  descended ;  but  Welbeck  was 
still  at  a  distance. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

WELBECK  did  not  return,  though  hour  succeeded  hour 
till  the  clock  struck  ten.  I  inquired  of  the  servants, 
who  informed  me  that  their  master  was  not  accustomed 
to  stay  out  so  late.  I  seated  myself  at  a  table,  in  a  par 
lour,  on  which  there  stood  a  light,  and  listened  for  the 
signal  of  his  coming,  either  by  the  sound  of  steps  on  the 
pavement  without  or  by  a  peal  from  the  bell.  The  silence 
was  uninterrupted  and  profound,  and  each  minute  added 
to  my  sum  of  impatience  and  anxiety. 

To  relieve  myself  from  the  heat  of  the  weather,  which 
was  aggravated  by  the  condition  of  my  thoughts,  as  well 
as  to  beguile  this  tormenting  interval,  it  occurred  to  me 
to  betake  myself  to  the  bath.  I  left  the  candle  where  it 
stood,  and  imagined  that  even  in  the  bath  I  should  hear 
the  sound  of  the  bell  which  would  be  rung  upon  his 
arrival  at  the  door. 

No  such  signal  occurred,  and,  after  taking  this  re 
freshment,  I  prepared  to  return  to  my  post.  The  parlour 
was  still  unoccupied,  but  this  was  not  all ;  the  candle  I 
had  left  upon  the  table  was  gone.  This  was  an  inexpli 
cable  circumstance.  On  my  promise  to  wait  for  their 
master,  the  servants  had  retired  to  bed.  No  signal  of 
any  one's  entrance  had  been  given.  The  street  door 
was  locked,  and  the  key  hung  at  its  customary  place 
upon  the  wall.  What  was  I  to  think  ?  It  was  obvious 
to  suppose  that  the  candle  had  been  removed  by  a 
domestic ;  but  their  footsteps  could  not  be  traced,  and  I 
was  not  sufficiently  acquainted  with  the  house  to  find  the 
way,  especially  immersed  in  darkness,  to  their  chamber. 
One  measure,  however,  it  was  evidently  proper  to  take, 
6  81 


82  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

which  was  to  supply  myself,  anew,  with  a  light.  This 
was  instantly  performed ;  but  what  was  next  to  be  done  ? 

I  was  weary  of  the  perplexities  in  which  I  was  em 
broiled.  I  saw  no  avenue  to  escape  from  them  but  that 
which  led  me  to  the  bosom  of  nature  and  to  my  ancient 
occupations.  For  a  moment  I  was  tempted  to  resume 
my  rustic  garb,  and,  on  that  very  hour,  to  desert  this 
habitation.  One  thing  only  detained  me;  the  desire  to 
apprize  my  patron  of  the  treachery  of  Thetford.  For 
this  end  I  was  anxious  to  obtain  an  interview;  but  now 
I  reflected  that  this  information  could  by  other  means  be 
imparted.  Was  it  not  sufficient  to  write  him  briefly  these 
particulars,  and  leave  him  to  profit  by  the  knowledge  ? 
Thus  I  might,  likewise,  acquaint  him  with  my  motives 
for  thus  abruptly  and  unseasonably  deserting  his  service. 

To  the  execution  of  this  scheme  pen  and  paper  were 
necessary.  The  business  of  writing  was  performed  in 
the  chamber  on  the  third  story.  I  had  been  hitherto 
denied  access  to  this  room.  In  it  was  a  show  of  papers 
and  books.  Here  it  was  that  the  task,  for  which  I  had 
been  retained,  was  to  be  performed ;  but  I  was  to  enter 
it  and  leave  it  only  in  company  with  Welbeck.  For 
what  reasons,  I  asked,  was  this  procedure  to  be  adopted  ? 

The  influence  of  prohibitions  and  an  appearance  of 
disguise  in  awakening  curiosity  is  well  known.  My  mind 
fastened  upon  the  idea  of  this  room  with  an  unusual 
degree  of  intcnsencss.  I  had  seen  it  but  for  a  moment. 
Many  of  Welbeck 's  hours  were  spent  in  it.  It  was  not 
to  be  inferred  that  they  were  consumed  in  idleness:  what 
then  was  the  nature  of  his  employment  over  which  a  veil 
of  such  impenetrable  secrecy  was  cast  ? 

Will  you  wonder  that  the  design  of  entering  this  recess 
was  insensibly  formed?  Possibly  it  was  locked,  but  its 
accessibleness  was  likewise  possible.  I  meant  not  the 
commission  of  any  crime.  My  principal  purpose  was  to 
procure  the  implements  of  writing,  which  were  elsewhere 
not  to  be  found.  I  should  neither  unseal  papers  nor  open 
drawers.  I  would  merely  take  a  survey  of  the  volumes 
and  attend  to  the  objects  that  spontaneously  presented 
themselves  to  my  view.  In  this  there  surely  was  nothing 
criminal  or  blameworthy.  Meanwhile  I  was  nit  un- 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  83 

mindful  of  the  sudden  disappearance  of  the  candle. 
Tliis  incident  filled  my  bosom  with  the  inquietudes  of 
fear  and  the  perturbations  of  wonder. 

Once  more  I  paused  to  catch  any  sound  that  might 
arise  from  without.  All  was  still.  I  seized  the  candle 
and  prepared  to  mount  the  stairs.  I  had  not  reached 
the  first  landing  when  I  called  to  mind  my  midnight 
meeting  with  Welbeck  at  the  door  of  his  daughter's 
chamber.  The  chamber  was  now  desolate;  perhaps  it 
was  accessible ;  if  so,  no  injury  was  done  by  entering  it. 
My  curiosity  was  strong,  but  it  pictured  to  itself  no  pre 
cise  object.  Three  steps  would  bear  me  to  the  door. 
The  trial,  whether  it  was  fastened,  might  be  made  in  a 
moment ;  and  I  readily  imagined  that  something  might 
be  found  within  to  reward  the  trouble  of  examination. 
The  door  yielded  to  my  hand,  and  I  entered. 

No  remarkable  object  was  discoverable.  The  apart 
ment  was  supplied  with  the  usual  furniture.  I  bent  my 
steps  towards  a  table  over  which  a  mirror  was  suspended. 
My  glances,  which  roved  with  swiftness  from  one  object 
to  another,  shortly  lighted  on  a  miniature  portrait  that 
hung  near.  I  scrutinized  it  with  eagerness.  It  was 
impossible  to  overlook  its  resemblance  to  my  own  visage. 
This  was  so  great  that  for  a  moment  I  imagined  myself 
to  have  been  the  original  from  which  it  had  been  drawn. 
This  flattering  conception  yielded  place  to  a  belief  merely 
of  similitude  between  me  and  the  genuine  original. 

The  thoughts  which  this  opinion  was  fitted  to  produce 
were  suspended  by  a  new  object.  A  small  volume,  that 
had,  apparently,  been  much  used,  lay  upon  the  toilet.  I 
opened  it,  and  found  it  to  contain  some  of  the  Dramas 
of  Apostolo  Zeno.  I  turned  over  the  leaves  ;  a  written 
paper  saluted  my  sight.  A  single  glance  informed  me 
that  it  was  English.  For  the  present  I  was  insensible 
to  all  motives  that  would  command  me  to  forbear.  I 
seized  the  paper  with  an  intention  to  peruse  it. 

At  that  moment  a  stunning  report  was  heard.  It  was 
loud  enough  to  shake  the  walls  of  the  apartment,  and 
abrupt  enough  to  throw  me  into  tremors.  I  dropped  the 
book  and  yielded  for  a  moment  to  confusion  and  surprise. 
From  what  quarter  it  came,  I  was  unable  accurately  to 


84  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OK, 

determine ;  but  there  could  be  no  doubt,  from  its  loud- 
ness,  that  it  was  near,  and  even  in  the  house.  It  was 
no  less  manifest  that  the  sound  arose  from  the  discharge 
of  a  pistol.  Some  hand  must  have  drawn  the  trigger. 
I  recollected  the  disappearance  of  the  candle  from  the 
room  below.  Instantly  a  supposition  darted  into  my 
mind  which  made  my  hair  rise  and  my  teeth  chatter. 

"  This,"  I  said,  "is  the  deed  of  Welbeck.  He  entered 
while  I  was  absent  from  the  room ;  he  hied  to  his  cham 
ber;  and,  prompted  by  some  unknown  instigation,  has 
inflicted  on  himself  death!"  This  idea  had  a  tendency 
to  palsy  my  lirnbs  and  my  thoughts.  Some  time  passed 
in  painful  and  tumultuous  fluctuation.  My  aversion  to 
this  catastrophe,  rather  than  a  belief  of  being,  by  that 
means,  able  to  prevent  or  repair  the  evil,  induced  me  to 
attempt  to  enter  his  chamber.  It  was  possible  that  my 
conjectures  were  erroneous. 

The  door  of  his  room  was  locked.  I  knocked ;  I  de 
manded  entrance  in  a  low  voice;  I  put  my  eye  and  my 
ear  to  the  keyhole  and  the  crevices ;  nothing  could  be 
heard  or  seen.  It  was  unavoidable  to  conclude  that  no 
one  was  within;  yet  the  effluvia  of  gunpowder  was  per 
ceptible. 

Perhaps  the  room  above  had  been  the  scene  of  this 
catastrophe.  I  ascended  the  second  flight  of  stairs. 
I  approached  the  door.  No  sound  could  be  caught  by 
my  most  vigilant  attention.  I  put  out  the  light  that  I 
carried,  and  was  then  able  to  perceive  that  there  was 
light  within  the  room.  I  scarcely  knew  how  to  act. 
For  some  minutes  I  paused  at  the  door.  I  spoke,  and 
requested  permission  to  enter.  My  words  were  suc 
ceeded  by  a  deathlike  stillness.  At  length  I  ventured 
softly  to  withdraw  the  bolt,  to  open  and  to  advance 
within  the  room.  Nothing  could  exceed  the  horror  of 
my  expectation ;  yet  I  was  startled  by  the  scene  that  I 
beheld. 

In  a  chair,  whose  back  was  placed  against  the  front 
wall,  sat  Welbeck.  My  entrance  alarmed  him  not,  nor 
roused  him  from  the  stupor  into  which  he  was  plunged. 
He  rested  his  hands  upon  his  knees,  and  his  eyes  were 
riveted  to  something  that  lay,  at  the  distance  of  a  few 


MEMOIRS   OF   THE    YEAR  1793.  85 

feet  before  him,  on  the  floor.  A  second  glance  waa 
sufficient  to  inform  me  of  what  nature  this  object  was. 
It  was  the  body  of  a  man,  bleeding,  ghastly,  and  still 
exhibiting  the  marks  of  convulsion  and  agony ! 

I  shall  omit  to  describe  the  shock  which  a  spectacle 
like  this  communicated  to  my  unpractised  senses.  I  was 
nearly  as  panic-struck  and  powerless  as  Welbeck  him 
self.  I  gazed,  without  power  of  speech,  at  one  time,  at 
Welbeck;  then  I  fixed  terrified  eyes  on  the  distorted 
features  of  the  dead.  At  length,  Welbeck,  recovering 
from  his  reverie,  looked  up,  as  if  to  see  who  it  was  that 
had  entered.  No  surprise,  no  alarm,  was  betrayed  by 
him  on  seeing  me.  He  manifested  no  desire  or  intention 
to  interrupt  the  fearful  silence. 

My  thoughts  wandered  in  confusion  and  terror.  The 
first  impulse  was  to  fly  from  the  scene ;  but  I  could  not 
be  long  insensible  to  the  exigences  of  the  moment.  I 
saw  that  affairs  must  not  be  suffered  to  remain  in  their 
present  situation.  The  insensibility  or  despair  of  Wel 
beck  required  consolation  and  succour.  How  to  com 
municate  my  thoughts,  or  offer  my  assistance,  I  knew 
not.  What  led  to  this  murderous  catastrophe;  who  it 
was  whose  breathless  corpse  was  before  me ;  what  con 
cern  Welbeck  had  in  producing  his  death;  were  as  yet 
unknown. 

At  length  he  rose  from  his  seat,  and  strode  at  first 
with  faltering,  and  then  with  more  steadfast  steps,  across 
the  floor.  This  motion  seemed  to  put  him  in  possession 
of  himself.  He  seemed  now,  for  the  first  time,  to  recog 
nise  my  presence.  He  turned  to  me,  and  said,  in  a  tone 
of  severity, — 

"  How  now  ?     What  brings  you  here  ?" 

This  rebuke  was  unexpected.  I  stammered  out,  in 
reply,  that  the  report  of  the  pistol  had  alarmed  me,  and 
that  I  came  to  discover  the  cause  of  it. 

He  noticed  riot  my  answer,  but  resumed  his  perturbed 
steps,  and  his  anxious  but  abstracted  looks.  Suddenly 
he  checked  himself,  and,  glancing  a  furious  eye  at  the 
corpse,  he  muttered,  "Yes,  the  die  is  cast.  This  worth 
less  and  miserable  scone  shall  last  no  longer.  I  will  at 
once  get  rid  of  life  and  all  its  humiliations." 


86  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

Here  succeeded  a  new  pause.  The  course  of  his 
thoughts  seemed  now  to  become  once  more  tranquil. 
Sadness,  rather  than  fury,  overspread  his  features;  and 
his  accent,  when  he  spoke  to  me,  was  not  faltering,  but 
solemn. 

"Mcrvyn,"  said  he,  "you  comprehend  not  this  scene. 
Your  youth  and  inexperience  make  you  a  stranger  to  a 
deceitful  and  flagitious  world.  You  know  me  not.  It  is 
time  that  this  ignorance  should  vanish.  The  knowledge 
of  me  and  of  my  actions  may  be  of  use  to  you.  It  may 
teach  you  to  avoid  the  shoals  on  which  my  virtue  and  my 
peace  have  been  wrecked;  but  to  the  rest  of  mankind  it 
can  be  of  no  use.  The  ruin  of  my  fame  is,  perhaps, 
irretrievable;  but  the  height  of  my  iniquity  need  not  be 
known.  I  perceive  in  you  a  rectitude  and  firmness 
worthy  to  be  trusted ;  promise  me,  therefore,  that  not  a 
syllable  of  what  I  tell  you  shall  ever  pass  your  lips." 

I  had  lately  experienced  the  inconvenience  of  a  pro 
mise;  but  I  was  now  confused,  embarrassed,  ardently 
inquisitive  as  to  the  nature  of  this  scene,  and  unapprized 
of  the  motives  that  might  afterwards  occur,  persuading 
or  compelling  me  to  disclosure.  The  promise  which  he 
exacted  was  given.  He  resumed : — 

"  I  have  detained  you  in  my  service,  partly  for  your 
own  benefit,  but  chiefly  for  mine.  I  intended  to  inflict 
upon  you  injury  and  to  do  you  good.  Neither  of  these 
ends  can  I  now  accomplish,  unless  the  lessons  which  my 
example  may  inculcate  shall  inspire  you  with  fortitude 
and  arm  you  with  caution. 

"What  it  was  that  made  me  thus,  I  know  not.  I  am 
not  destitute  of  understanding.  My  thirst  of  knowledge, 
though  irregular,  is  ardent.  I  can  talk  and  can  feel  as 
virtue  and  justice  prescribe;  yet  the  tenor  of  my  actions 
has  been  uniform.  One  tissue  of  iniquity  and  folly  has 
been  my  life;  while  my  thoughts  have  been  familiar  with 
enlightened  and  disinterested  principles.  Scorn  and  de 
testation  I  have  heaped  upon  myself.  Yesterday  is  re 
membered  with  remorse.  To-morrow  is  contemplated 
with  anguish  and  fear;  yet  every  day  is  productive  of 
the  same  crimes  and  of  the  same  follies. 

"I  was  left,  by  the  insolvency  of  my  father,  (a  trader 


MEMOTRS   OF  THE    YEAR   1793.  87 

of  Liverpool,^  without  any  means  of  support  but  such  as 
labour  should  afford  me.  Whatever  could  generate  pride, 
and  the  love  of  independence,  was  my  portion.  What 
ever  can  incite  to  diligence  was  the  growth  of  my  con 
dition;  yet  my  indolence  was  a  cureless  disease;  and 
there  were  no  arts  too  sordid  for  me  to  practise. 

"I  was  content  to  live  on  the  bounty  of  a  kinsman. 
His  family  was  numerous,  and  his  revenue  small.  He 
forbore  to  upbraid  me,  or  even  to  insinuate  the  propriety 
of  providing  for  myself;  but  he  empowered  me  to  pursue 
any  liberal  or  mechanical  profession  which  might  suit  my 
taste.  I  was  insensible  to  every  generous  motive.  I 
laboured  to  forget  my  dependent  and  disgraceful  con 
dition,  because  the  remembrance  was  a  source  of  anguish, 
without  beifig  able  to  inspire  me  with  a  steady  resolution 
to  change  it. 

"  I  contracted  an  acquaintance  with  a  woman  who  was 
unchaste,  perverse,  and  malignant.  Me,  however,  she 
found  it  no  difficult  task  to  deceive.  My  uncle  remon 
strated  against  the  union.  He  took  infinite  pains  to 
unveil  my  error,  and  to  convince  me  that  wedlock  was 
improper  for  one  destitute,  as  I  was,  of  the  means  of 
support,  even  if  the  object  of  my  choice  were  personally 
unexceptionable. 

"  His  representations  were  listened  to  with  anger. 
That  he  thwarted  my  will  in  this  respect,  even  by  affec 
tionate  expostulation,  cancelled  all  that  debt  of  gratitude 
which  I  owed  to  him.  I  rewarded  him  for  all  his  kind 
ness  by  invective  and  disdain,  and  hastened  to  complete 
my  ill-omened  marriage.  I  had  deceived  the  woman's 
father  by  assertions  of  possessing  secret  resources.  To 
gratify  my  passion,  I  descended  to  dissimulation  and 
falsehood.  He  admitted  me  into  his  family,  as  the  hus 
band  of  his  child;  but  the  character  of  my  wife  and  the 
fallacy  of  my  assertions  were  quickly  discovered.  He 
denied  me  accommodation  under  his  roof,  and  I  was 
turned  forth  to  the  world  to  endure  the  penalty  of  my 
rashness  and  my  indolence. 

"Temptation  would  have  moulded  me  into  any  villa- 
nous  shape.  My  virtuous  theories  and  comprehensive 


88  ARTHUR   MERVYN;    OR, 

erudition  would  not  have  saved  me  from  the  basest  of 
crimes.  Luckily  for  me,  I  was,  for  the  present,  exempted 
from  temptation.  I  had  formed  an  acquaintance  with  a 
young  American  captain.  On  being  partially  informed 
of  my  situation,  he  invited  me  to  embark  with  him  for 
his  own  country.  My  passage  was  gratuitous.  I  arrived, 
in  a  short  time,  at  Charleston,  which  was  the  place  of 
his  abode. 

"  He  introduced  me  to  his  family,  every  member  of 
which  was,  like  himself,  imbued  with  affection  and  bene 
volence.  I  was  treated  like  their  son  and  brother.  I  was 
hospitably  entertained  until  I  should  be  able  to  select 
some  path  of  lucrative  industry.  Such  was  my  incurable 
depravity,  that  I  made  no  haste  to  select  my  pursuit. 
An  interval  of  inoccupation  succeeded,  whick  I  applied 
to  the  worst  purposes. 

"My  friend  had  a  sister,  who  was  married,  but  during 
the  absence  of  her  husband  resided  with  her  family. 
Hence  originated  our  acquaintance.  The  purest  of 
human  hearts  and  the  most  vigorous  understanding  were 
hers.  She  idolized  her  husband,  who  well  deserved  to 
be  the  object  of  her  adoration.  Her  affection  for  him, 
and  her  general  principles,  appeared  to  be  confirmed 
beyond  the  power  to  be  shaken.  I  sought  her  inter 
course  without  illicit  views ;  I  delighted  in  the  effusions 
of  her  candour  and  the  flashes  of  her  intelligence;  I 
conformed,  by  a  kind  of  instinctive  hypocrisy,  to  her 
views ;  I  spoke  and  felt  from  the  influence  of  immediate 
and  momentary  conviction.  She  imagined  she  had  found 
in  me  a  friend  worthy  to  partake  in  all  her  sympathies 
and  forward  all  her  wishes.  We  were  mutually  deceived. 
She  was  the  victim  of  self-delusion ;  but  I  must  charge 
myself  with  practising  deceit  both  upon  myself  and  her. 

"I  reflect  with  astonishment  and  horror  on  the  steps 
whicli  led  to  her  degradation  and  to  my  calamity.  In 
the  high  career  of  passion  all  consequences  were  over 
looked.  She  was  the  dupe  of  the  most  audacious  sophis 
try  and  the  grossest  delusion.  I  was  the  slave  of  sensual 
impulses  and  voluntary  blindness.  The  effect  may  be 
easily  conceived.  Not  till  symptoms  of  pregnancy  began 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR   1793.  89 

to  appear  were  our  eyes  opened  to  the  ruin  which  im 
pended  over  us. 

"  Then  I  began  to  revolve  the  consequences,  which  the 
mist  of  passion  had  hitherto  concealed.  I  was  tormented 
by  the  pangs  of  remorse,  and  pursued  by  the  phantom 
of  ingratitude.  To  complete  my  despair,  this  unfortunate 
lady  was  apprized  of  my  marriage  with  another  woman ; 
a  circumstance  which  I  had  anxiously  concealed  from  her. 
She  fled  from  her  father's  house  at  a  time  when  her  hus 
band  and  brother  were  hourly  expected.  What  became 
of  her  I  knew  not.  She  left  behind  her  a  letter  to  her 
father,  in  which  the  melancholy  truth  was  told. 

"  Shame  and  remorse  had  no  power  over  my  life.  To 
elude  the  storm  of  invective  and  upbraiding,  to  quiet  the 
uproar  of  my  mind,  I  did  not  betake  myself  to  voluntary 
death.  My  pusillanimity  still  clung  to  this  wretched 
existence.  I  abruptly  retired  from  the  scene,  and,  re 
pairing  to  the  port,  embarked  in  the  first  vessel  which 
appeared.  The  ship  chanced  to  belong  to  Wilmington, 
in  Delaware,  and  here  I  sought  out  an  obscure  and  cheap 
abode. 

"  I  possessed  no  means  of  subsistence.  I  was  unknoAvn 
to  my  neighbours,  and  desired  to  remain  unknown.  I  was 
unqualified  for  manual  labour  by  all  the  habits  of  my  life; 
but  there  was  no  choice  between  penury  and  diligence, — 
between  honest  labour  and  criminal  inactivity.  I  mused 
incessantly  on  the  forlornness  of  my  condition.  Hour 
after  hour  passed,  and  the  horrors  of  want  began  to  en 
compass  me.  I  sought  with  eagerness  for  an  avenue  by 
which  I  might  escape  from  it.  The  perverseness  of  my 
nature  led  me  on  from  one  guilty  thought  to  another.  I 
took  refuge  in  my  customary  sophistries,  and  reconciled 
myself  at  length  to  a  scheme  of — forgery!"  * 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  HAVING-  ascertained  my  purpose,  it  was  requisite  to 
search  out  the  means  by  which  1  might  effect  it.  These 
were  not  clearly  or  readily  suggested.  The  more  I  con 
templated  my  project,,  the  more  numerous  and  arduous 
its  difficulties  appeared.  I  had  no  associates  in  my 
undertaking.  A  due  regard  to  my  safety,  and  the  un- 
extinguished  sense  of  honour,  deterred  me  from  seeking 
auxiliaries  and  co-agents.  The  esteem  of  mankind  was 
the  spring  of  all  my  activity,  the  parent  of  all  my  virtue 
and  all  my  vice.  To  preserve  this,  it  was  necessary  thai  my 
guilty  projects  should  have  neither  witness  nor  partaker. 

"  I  quickly  discovered  that  to  execute  this  scheme  de 
manded  time,  application,  and  money,  none  of  which  my 
present  situation  would  permit  me  to  devote  to  it.  At 
first  it  appeared  that  an  attainable  degree  of  skill  and 
circumspection  would  enable  me  to  arrive,  by  means  of 
counterfeit  bills,  to  the  pinnacle  of  affluence  and  honour. 
My  error  was  detected  by  a  closer  scrutiny,  and  I  finally 
saw  nothing  in  this  path  but  enormous  perils  and  insur 
mountable  impediments. 

"  Yet  what  alternative  was  offered  me  ?  To  maintain 
myself  by  the  labour  of  my  hands,  to  perform  any  toil 
some  or  prescribed  task,  was  incompatible  with  my  na 
ture.  My  habits  debarred  me  from  country  occupations. 
My  pride  regarded  as  vile  and  ignominious  drudgery  any 
employment  which  the  town  could  afford.  Meanwhile, 
my  wants  were  as  urgent  as  ever,  and  my  funds  were 
exhausted. 

"  There  are  few,  perhaps,  whose  external  situation  re 
sembled  mine,  who  would  have  found  in  it  any  thing  but 
incitements  to  industry  and  invention.  A  thousand  me- 
90 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  9! 

thods  of  subsistence,  honest  but  laborious,  were  at  my 
command,  but  to  these  I  entertained  an  irreconcilable 
aversion.  Ease  and  the  respect  attendant  upon  opulence 
I  was  willing  to  purchase  at  the  price  of  ever-wakeful 
suspicion  and  eternal  remorse ;  but,  even  at  this  price, 
the  purchase  was  impossible. 

"  The  desperateness  of  my  condition  became  hourly 
more  apparent.  The  further  I  extended  my  view,  the 
darker  grew  the  clouds  which  hung  over  futurity.  An 
guish  and  infamy  appeared  to  be  the  inseparable  conditions 
of  my  existence.  There  was  one  mode  of  evading  the 
evils  that  impended.  To  free  myself  from  self-upbraid 
ing  and  to  shun  the  persecutions  of  my  fortune  was  pos 
sible  only  by  shaking  off  life  itself. 

"  One  evening,  as  I  traversed  the  bank  of  the  creek, 
these  dismal  meditations  were  uncommonly  intense.  They 
at  length  terminated  in  a  resolution  to  throw  myself  into 
the  stream.  The  first  impulse  was  to  rush  instantly  to 
my  death;  but  the  remembrance  of  papers,  lying  at  my 
lodgings,  which  might  unfold  more  than  I  desired  to  the 
curiosity  of  survivors,  induced  me  to  postpone  this  ca 
tastrophe  till  the  next  morning. 

"  My  purpose  being  formed,  I  found  my  heart  lightened 
of  its  usual  weight.  By  you  it  will  be  thought  strange, 
but  it  is  nevertheless  true,  that  I  derived  from  this  new 
prospect  not  only  tranquillity  but  cheerfulness.  I  hastened 
home.  As  soon  as  I  entered,  my  landlord  informed  me 
that  a  person  had  been  searching  for  me  in  my  absence. 
This  was  an  unexampled  incident,  and  foreboded  me  no 
good.  I  was  strongly  persuaded  that  my  visitant  had 
been  led  hither  not  by  friendly  but  hostile  purposes. 
This  persuasion  was  confirmed  by  the  description  of  the 
stranger's  guise  and  demeanour  given  by  my  landlord. 
My  fears  instantly  recognised  the  image  of  Watson,  the 
man  by  whom  I  had  been  so  eminently  benefited,  and 
whose  kindness  I  had  compensated  by  the  ruin  of  hia 
sister  and  the  confusion  of  his  family. 

"An  interview  with  this  man  was  less  to  be  endured 
than  to  look  upon  the  face  of  an  avenging  deity.  I  was 
determined  to  avoid  this  interview,  and,  for  this  end,  to 
execute  my  fatal  purpose  within  the  hour.  My  papers 


92  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

were  collected  with  a  tremulous  hand,  and  consigned  tr 
the  flames.  I  then  bade  my  landlord  inform  all  visitants 
that  I  should  not  return  till  the  next  day,  and  once  more 
hastened  towards  the  river. 

"  My  way  led  past  the  inn  where  one  of  the  stages 
from  Baltimore  was  accustomed  to  stop.  I  was  not  un 
aware  that  Watson  had  possibly  been  brought  in  the 
coach  which  had  recently  arrived,  and  which  now  stood 
before  the  door  of  the  inn.  The  danger  of  my  being 
descried  or  encountered  by  him  as  I  passed  did  not  fail 
to  occur.  This  was  to  be  eluded  by  deviating  from  the 
main  street. 

"  Scarcely  had  I  turned  a  corner  for  this  purpose 
when  I  was  accosted  by  a  young  man  whom  I  knew  to 
be  an  inhabitant  of  the  town,  but  with  whom  I  had 
hitherto  had  no  intercourse  but  what  consisted  in  a  tran 
sient  salutation.  He  apologized  for  the  liberty  of  ad 
dressing  me,  and,  at  the  same  time,  inquired  if  I  under 
stood  the  French  language. 

"  Being  answered  in  the  affirmative,  he  proceeded  to 
tell  me  that  in  the  stage,  just  arrived,  had  come  a  pas 
senger,  a  youth  who  appeared  to  be  French,  who  was 
wholly  unacquainted  with  our  language,  and  who  had 
been  seized  with  a  violent  disease. 

"  My  informant  had  felt  compassion  for  the  forlorn 
condition  of  the  stranger,  and  had  just  been  seeking  me 
at  my  lodgings,  in  hope  that  my  knowledge  of  French 
would  enable  me  to  converse  with  the  sick  man,  and 
obtain  from  him  a  knowledge  of  his  situation  and  views. 

"  The  apprehensions  I  had  precipitately  formed  were 
thus  removed,  and  I  readily  consented  to  perform  this 
service.  The  youth  was,  indeed,  in  a  deplorable  condition. 
Besides  the  pains  of  his  disease,  he  was  overpowered  by 
dejection.  The  innkeeper  was  extremely  anxious  for  the 
removal  of  his  guest.  lie  was  by  no  means  willing  to 
sustain  the  trouble  and  expense  of  a  sick  or  a  dying  man, 
for  which  it  was  scarcely  probable  that  he  should  ever  be 
reimbursed.  The  traveller  had  no  baggage,  and  hia 
dress  betokened  the  pressure  of  many  wants. 

"  My  compassion  for  this  stranger  was  powerfully 
awakened.  1  was  in  possession  of  a  suitable  apartment, 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  93 

for  which  I  had  no  power  to  pay  the  rent  that  was  ac 
cruing  ;  but  my  inability  in  this  respect  was  unknown,  and 
I  might  enjoy  my  lodgings  unmolested  for  some  weeks. 
The  fate  of  this  youth  would  be  speedily  decided,  and  I 
should  be  left  at  liberty  to  execute  my  first  intentions 
before  my  embarrassments  should  he  visibly  increased. 

"  After  a  moment's  pause,  I  conducted  the  stranger  to 
my  home,  placed  him  in  my  own  bed,  and  became  his 
nurse.  His  malady  was  such  as  is  known  in  the  tropical 
islands  by  the  name  of  the  yellow  or  malignant  fever, 
and  the  physician  who  was  called  speedily  pronounced 
his  case  desperate. 

"  It  was  my  duty  to  warn  him  of  the  death  that  was 
hastening,  and  to  promise  the  fulfilment  of  any  of  his 
wishes  not  inconsistent  with  my  present  situation.  He 
received  my  intelligence  with  fortitude,  and  appeared 
anxious  to  communicate  some  information  respecting  his 
own  state.  His  pangs  and  his  weakness  scarcely  allowed 
him  to  be  intelligible.  From  his  feeble  efforts  and  broken 
narrative  I  collected  thus  much  concerning  his  family 
and  fortune. 

"  His  father's  name  was  Vincentio  Lodi.  From  a  mer 
chant  at  Leghorn,  he  had  changed  himself  into  a  planter 
in  the  island  of  Guadaloupe.  His  son  had  been  sent, 
at  an  early  age,  for  the  benefits  of  education,  to  Europe. 
The  young  Vincentio  was,  at  length,  informed  by  his 
father,  that,  being  weary  of  his  present  mode  of  exist 
ence,  he  had  determined  to  sell  his  property  and  trans 
port  himself  to  the  United  States.  The  son  was  directed 
to  hasten  home,  that  he  might  embark,  with  his  father, 
on  this  voyage. 

"  The  summons  was  cheerfully  obeyed.  The  youth,  on 
his  arrival  at  the  island,  found  preparation  making  for  the 
funeral  of  his  father.  It  appeared  that  the  elder  Lodi 
had  flattered  one  of  his  slaves  with  the  prospect  of  his 
freedom,  but  had,  nevertheless,  included  this  slave  in  the 
sale  that  he  had  made  of  his  estate.  Actuated  by  re 
venge,  the  slave  assassinated  Lodi  in  the  open  street,  and 
resigned  himself,  without  a  struggle,  to  the  punishment 
which  the  law  had  provided  for  such  a  deed. 

"  The  property  had  been  recently  transferred,  and  the 


94  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

price  was  now  presented  to  young  Vincentio  by  the  pur 
chaser.  He  was  by  no  means  inclined  to  adopt  his 
father's  project,  and  was  impatient  to  return  with  his 
inheritance  to  France.  Before  this  could  be  done,  the 
conduct  of  his  father  had  rendered  a  voyage  to  the  Con 
tinent  indispensable. 

"  Lodi  had  a  daughter,  whom,  a  few  weeks  previous  to 
Iris  death,  he  had  intrusted  to  an  American  captain  for 
whom  he  had  contracted  a  friendship.  The  vessel  was 
bound  to  Philadelphia;  but  the  conduct  she  was  to  pur 
sue,  and  the  abode  she  was  to  select,  on  her  arrival,  were 
known  only  to  the  father,  whose  untimely  death  involved 
the  son  in  considerable  uncertainty  with  regard  to  his 
sister's  fate.  His  anxiety  on  this  account  induced  him 
to  seize  the  first  conveyance  that  ottered.  In  a  short 
time  he  landed  at  Baltimore. 

"As  soon  as  he  recovered  from  the  fatigues  of  his 
voyage,  he  prepared  to  go  to  Philadelphia.  Thither  his 
baggage  was  immediately  sent  under  the  protection  of  a 
passenger  'and  countryman.  His  money  consisted  in 
Portuguese  gold,  which,  in  pursuance  of  advice,  he  had 
changed  into  bank-notes.  He  besought  me,  in  pathetic 
terms,  to  search  out  his  sister,  whose  youth  and  poverty, 
and  ignorance  of  the  language  and  manners  of  the  coun 
try,  might  expose  her  to  innumerable  hardships.  At  the 
same  time,  he  put  a  pocket-book  and  small  volume  into 
my  hand,  indicating,  by  his  countenance  and  gestures, 
his  desire  that  I  would  deliver  them  to  his  sister. 

"  His  obsequies  being  decently  performed,  I  had  leisure 
to  reflect  upon  the  change  in  my  condition  which  this  in 
cident  had  produced.  In  the  pocket-book  were  found  bills 
to  the  amount  of  twenty  thousand  dollars.  The  volume 
proved  to  be  a  manuscript,  written  by  the  elder  Lodi  in 
Italian,  and  contained  memoirs  of  the  ducal  house  of 
Yisconti,  from  whom  the  writer  believed  himself  to  have 
lineally  descended. 

"Thus  had  I  arrived,  by  an  avenue  so  much  beyond 
my  foresight,  at  the  possession  of  wealth.  The  evil 
which  impelled  me  to  the  brink  of  suicide,  and  which 
was  the  source,  though  not  of  all.  yet  of  the  larger  por 
tion,  of  my  anguish,  was  now  removed.  What  claims  tc 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  95 

honour  or  to  ease  were  consequent  on  riches  were,  hy  an 
extraordinary  fortune,  now  conferred  upon  me. 

"Such,  for  a  time,  were  my  new-born  but  transitory 
raptures.  I  forgot  that  this  money  was  not  mine.  That 
it  had  been  received,  under  every  sanction  of  fidelity,  for 
another's  use.  To  retain  it  was  equivalent  to  robbery. 
The  sister  of  the  deceased  was  the  rightful  claimant ;  it 
was  my  duty  to  search  her  out,  and  perform  my  tacit 
but  sacred  obligations,  by  putting  the  whole  into  her 
possession. 

"  This  conclusion  was  too  adverse  to  my  wishes  not  to 
be  strenuously  combated.  I  asked  what  it  was  that  gave 
man  the  power  of  ascertaining  the  successor  to  his  pro 
perty.  During  his  life,  he  might  transfer  the  actual 
possession ;  but,  if  vacant  at  his  death,  he  into  whose 
hands  accident  should  cast  it  was  the  genuine  proprietor. 
It  is  true,  that  the  law  had  sometimes  otherwise  decreed, 
but  in  law  there  was  no  validity  further  than  it  was  able, 
by  investigation  and  punishment,  to  enforce  its  decrees : 
but  would  the  law  extort  this  money  from  me  ? 

"It  was  rather  by  gesture  than  by  words  that  the  will 
of  Lodi  was  imparted.  It  was  the  topic  of  remote  in 
ferences  and  vague  conjecture  rather  than  of  explicit 
and  unerring  declarations.  Besides,  if  the  lady  were 
found,  would  riot  prudence  dictate  the  reservation  of  her 
fortune  to  be  administered  by  me,  for  her  benefit  ?  Of 
this  her  age  and  education  had  disqualified  herself.  It 
was  sufficient  for  the  maintenance  of  both.  She  would 
regard  me  as  her  benefactor  and  protector.  By  supply 
ing  all  her  wants  and  watching  over  her  safety  without 
apprizing  her  of  the  means  by  which  I  shall  be  enabled 
to  do  this,  I  shall  lay  irresistible  claims  to  her  love  and 
her  gratitude. 

"Such  were  the  sophistries  by  which  reason  was  se 
duced  and  my  integrity  annihilated.  I  hastened  away 
from  my  present  abode.  I  easily  traced  the  baggage  of 
the  deceased  to  an  inn,  and  gained  possession  of  it.  It 
contained  nothing  but  clothes  and  books.  I  then  insti 
tuted  the  most  diligent  search  after  the  young  lady. 
For  a  time,  my  exertions  were  fruitless. 

"Meanwhile,   the    possessor  of    this    house    thought 


g6  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

proper  to  embark  with  his  family  for  Europe.  The 
sum  which  he  demanded  for  his  furniture,  though  enor 
mous,  was  precipitately  paid  by  me.  His  servants 
were  continued  in  their  former  stations,  and  in  the 
day  at  which  he  relinquished  the  mansion,  I  entered  on 
possession. 

"There  was  no  difficulty  in  persuading  the  world  that 
Welbeck  was  a  personage  of  opulence  and  rank.  My 
birth  and  previous  adventures  it  was  proper  to  conceal. 
The  facility  with  which  mankind  arc  misled  in  their  esti 
mate  of  characters,  their  proneness  to  multiply  infer 
ences  and  conjectures,  will  not  be  readily  conceived  by 
one  destitute  of  my  experience.  My  sudden  appearance 
on  the  stage,  my  stately  reserve,  my  splendid  habita 
tion,  and  my  circumspect  deportment,  were  sufficient  to 
entitle  me  to  homage.  The  artifices  that  were  used  to 
unveil  the  truth,  and  the  guesses  that  were  current  re 
specting  me,  were  adapted  to  gratify  my  ruling  passion. 

"  I  did  not  remit  my  diligence  to  discover  the  retreat 
of  Mademoiselle  Lodi.  I  found  her,  at  length,  in  the 
family  of  a  kinsman  of  the  captain  under  whose  care  she 
had  come  to  America.  Her  situation  was  irksome  and 
perilous.  She  had  already  experienced  the  evils  of  being 
protcctorlcss  and  indigent,  and  my  seasonable  interference 
snatched  her  from  impending  and  less  supportable  ills. 

"  I  could  safely  unfold  all  that  I  knew  of  her  brother's 
history,  except  the  legacy  which  he  had  left.  I  ascribed 
the  diligence  with  which  I  had  sought  her  to  his  death 
bed  injunctions,  and  prevailed  upon  her  to  accept  from 
me  the  treatment  which  she  would  have  received  from 
her  brother  .if  he  had  continued  to  live,  and  if  his  power 
to  benefit  had  been  equal  to  my  own. 

"  Though  less  can  be  said  in  praise  of  the  understand 
ing  than  of  the  sensibilities  of  this  woman,  she  is  one 
whom  no  one  could  refrain  from  loving,  though  placed 
in  situations  far  less  favourable  to  the  generation  of  that 
sentiment  than  mine.  In  habits  of  domestic  and  inces 
sant  intercourse,  in  the  perpetual  contemplation  of  fea 
tures  animated  by  boundless  gratitude  and  ineffable 
sympathies,  it  could  not  be  expected  that  either  she  or 
I  should  escape  enchantment. 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  9/ 

"  The  poison  was  too  sweet  not  to  be  swallowed  with 
avidity  by  me.  Too  late  I  remembered  that  I  was 
already  enslaved  by  inextricable  obligations.  It  was 
easy  to  have  hidden  this  impediment  from  the  eyes  of 
my  companion,  but  here  my  integrity  refused  to  yield. 
I  can,  indeed,  lay  claim  to  little  merit  on  account  of 
this  forbearance.  If  there  had  been  no  alternative  be 
tween  deceit  and  the  frustration  of  my  hopes,  I  should 
doubtless  have  dissembled  the  truth  with  as  little  scruple 
on  this  as  on  a  different  occasion ;  but  I  could  not  be 
blind  to  the  weakness  of  her  with  whom  I  had  to 
contend. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

"MEANWHILE  large  deductions  had  been  made  from 
my  stock  of  money,  and  the  remnant  would  be  speedily 
consumed  by  my  present  mode  of  life.  My  expenses 
far  exceeded  my  previous  expectations.  In  no  long 
time  I  should  be  reduced  to  my  ancient  poverty,  which 
the  luxurious  existence  that  I  now  enjoyed,  and  the  re 
gard  due  to  my  beloved  and  helpless  companion,  would 
render  more  irksome  than  ever.  Some  scheme  to  rescue 
me  from  this  fate  was  indispensable  ;  but  my  aversion  to 
labour,  to  any  pursuit  the  end  of  which  was  merely  gain, 
and  which  would  require  application  and  attention,  con 
tinued  undiminished. 

"I  was  plunged  anew  into  dejection  and  perplexity. 
From  this  I  was  somewhat  relieved  by  a  plan  suggested 
by  Mr.  Thetford.  I  thought  I  had  experience  of  his 
knowledge  and  integrity,  and  the  scheme  that  he  pro 
posed  seemed  liable  to  no  possibility  of  miscarriage.  A 
ship  was  to  be  purchased,  supplied  with  a  suitable  cargo, 
and  despatched  to  a  port  in  the  West  Indies.  Loss 
from  storms  and  enemies  was  to  be  precluded  by  in 
surance.  Every  hazard  was  to  be  enumerated,  and  the 
ship  and  cargo  valued  at  the  highest  rate.  Should  the 
voyage  be  safely  performed,  the  profits  would  be  double 
the  original  expense.  Should  the  ship  be  taken  or 
wrecked,  the  insurers  would  have  bound  themselves  to 
make  ample,  speedy,  and  certain  indemnification.  Thet- 
ford's  brother,  a  wary  and  experienced  trader,  was  to  be 
the  supercargo. 

"All  my  money  was  laid  out  upon  this  scheme. 
Scarcely  enough  was  reserved  to  supply  domestic  and 
personal  wants.  Large  debts  were  likewise  incurred. 
98 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  99 

Our  caution  had,  as  we  conceived,  annihilated  every 
chance  of  failure.  Too  much  could  not  be  expended  on 
a  project  so  infallible ;  and  the  vessel,  amply  fitted  and 
freighted,  departed  on  her  voyage. 

"An  interval,  not  devoid  of  suspense  and  anxiety, 
succeeded.  My  mercantile  inexperience  made  me  dis 
trust  the  clearness  of  my  own  discernment,  arid  I  could 
not  but  remember  that  my  utter  and  irretrievable  de 
struction  was  connected  with  the  failure  of  my  scheme. 
Time  added  to  my  distrust  and  apprehensions.  The 
time  at  which  tidings  of  the  ship  were  to  be  expected 
elapsed  without  affording  any  information  of  her  destiny. 
My  anxieties,  however,  were  to  be  carefully  hidden  from 
the  world.  I  had  taught  mankind  to  believe  that  this 
project  had  been  adopted  more  for  amusement  than 
gain ;  and  the  debts  which  I  had  contracted  seemed  to 
arise  from  willingness  to  adhere  to  established  maxims, 
more  than  from  the  pressure  of  necessity. 

"Month  succeeded  month,  and  intelligence  was  still 
withheld.  The  notes  which  I  had  given  for  one-third 
of  the  cargo,  and  for  the  premium  of  insurance,  would 
shortly  become  due.  For  the  payment  of  the  former, 
and  the  cancelling  of  the  latter,  I  had  relied  upon  the 
expeditious  return  or  the  demonstrated  loss  of  the  ves 
sel.  Neither  of  these  events  had  taken  place. 

"  My  cares  were  augmented  from  another  quarter. 
My  companion's  situation  now  appeared  to  be  such  as, 
if  our  intercourse  had  been  sanctified  by  wedlock,  would 
have  been  regarded  with  delight.  As  it  was,  no  symp 
toms  were  equally  to  be  deplored.  Consequences,  as  long 
as  they  were  involved  in  uncertainty,  were  extenuated  or 
overlooked ;  but  now,  when  they  became  apparent  and 
inevitable,  were  fertile  of  distress  and  upbraiding. 

"  Indefinable  fears,  and  a  desire  to  monopolize  all  the 
meditations  and  affections  of  this  being,  had  induced  me 
to  perpetuate  her  ignorance  of  any  but  her  native  lan 
guage,  and  debar  her  from  all  intercourse  with  the  world. 
My  friends  were  of  course  inquisitive  respecting  her  cha 
racter,  adventures,  and  particularly  her  relation  to  me. 
The  consciousness  how  much  the  truth  redounded  to  my 
dishonour  made  me  solicitous  to  lead  conjecture  astray. 


IOO  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

For  this  purpose  I  did  not  discountenance  the  conclusion 
that  was  adopted  by  some, — that  she  was  my  daughter. 
I  reflected  that  all  dangerous  surmises  would  be  effec 
tually  precluded  by  this  belief. 

"  These  precautions  afforded  me  some  consolation  in 
my  present  difficulties.  It  was  requisite  to  conceal  the 
lady's  condition  from  the  world.  If  this  should  be  inef 
fectual,  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  divert  suspicion  from 
my  person.  The  secrecy  that  I  had  practised  would  be 
justified,  in  the  apprehension  of  those  to  whom  the  per 
sonal  condition  of  Clemenza  should  be  disclosed,  by  the 
feelings  of  a  father. 

"  Meanwhile,  it  was  an  obvious  expedient  to  remove 
the  unhappy  lady  to  a  distance  from  impertinent  observ 
ers.  A  rural  retreat,  lonely  and  sequestered,  was  easily 
procured,  and  hither  she  consented  to  repair.  This  ar 
rangement  being  concerted,  I  had  leisure  to  reflect  upon 
the  evils  which  every  hour  brought  nearer,  and  which 
threatened  to  exterminate  me. 

"  My  inquietudes  forbade  me  to  sleep,  and  I  was  ac 
customed  to  rise  before  day  and  seek  some  respite  in  the 
fields.  Returning  from  one  of  these  unseasonable  ram 
bles,  I  chanced  to  meet  you.  Your  resemblance  to  the 
deceased  Lodi,  in  person  and  visage,  is  remarkable. 
When  you  first  met  my  eye,  this  similitude  startled  me. 
Your  subsequent  appeal  to  my  compassion  was  clothed 
in  such  terms  as  formed  a  powerful  contrast  with  your 
dress,  and  prepossessed  me  greatly  in  favour  of  your 
education  and  capacity. 

"  In  my  present  hopeless  condition,  every  incident, 
however  trivial,  was  attentively  considered,  with  a  view 
to  extract  from  it  some  means  of  escaping  from  my  dif 
ficulties.  My  love  for  the  Italian  girl,  in  spite  of  all  my 
efforts  to  keep  it  alive,  had  begun  to  languish.  Marriage 
was  impossible ;  and  had  now,  in  some  degree,  ceased  to 
be  desirable.  We  are  apt  to  judge  of  others  by  our 
selves.  The  passion  I  now  found  myself  disposed  to 
ascribe  chiefly  to  fortuitous  circumstances ;  to  the  im 
pulse  of  gratitude,  and  the  exclusion  of  competitors; 
and  believed  that  your  resemblance  to  her  brother,  your 
age  and  personal  accomplishments,  might,  after  a  certain 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  IOI 

time,  and  in  consequence  of  suitable  contrivances  on  my 
part,  give  a  new  direction  to  her  feelings.  To  gain  your 
concurrence,  I  relied  upon  your  simplicity,  your  grati 
tude,  and  your  susceptibility  to  the  charms  of  this  be 
witching  creature. 

"  I  contemplated,  likewise,  another  end.  Mrs.  Went- 
worth  is  rich.  A  youth  who  was  once  her  favourite,  and 
designed  to  inherit  her  fortunes,  has  disappeared,  for 
some  years,  from  the  scene.  His  death  is  most  probable, 
but  of  that  there  is  no  satisfactory  information.  The  life 
of  this  person,  whose  name  is  Clavering,  is  an  obstacle  to 
some  designs  which  had  occurred  to  me  in  relation  to  this 
woman.  My  purposes  were  crude  and  scarcely  formed. 
I  need  not  swell  the  catalogue  of  my  errors  by  expatiat 
ing  upon  them.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  the  peculiar  cir 
cumstances  of  your  introduction  to  me  led  me  to  reflec 
tions  on  the  use  that  might  be  made  of  your  agency,  in 
procuring  this  lady's  acquiescence  in  my  schemes.  You 
were  to  be  ultimately  persuaded  to  confirm  her  in  the 
belief  that  her  nephew  was  dead.  To  this  consummation 
it  was  indispensable  to  lead  you  by  slow  degrees  and 
circuitous  paths.  Meanwhile,  a  profound  silence,  with 
regard  to  your  genuine  history,  was  to  be  observed ;  and 
to  this  forbearance  your  consent  was  obtained  with  more 
readiness  than  I  expected. 

"  There  was  an  additional  motive  for  the  treatment 
you  received  from  me.  My  personal  projects  and  cares 
had  hitherto  prevented  me  from  reading  Lodi's  manu 
script  ;  a  slight  inspection,  however,  was  sufficient  to 
prove  that  the  work  was  profound  and  eloquent.  My 
ambition  has  panted,  with  equal  avidity,  after  the  repu 
tation  of  literature  and  opulence.  To  claim  the  author 
ship  of  this  work  was  too  harmless  and  specious  a  strata 
gem  not  to  be  readily  suggested.  I  meant  to  translate 
it  into  English,  and  to  enlarge  it  by  enterprising  inci 
dents  of  my  own  invention.  My  scruples  to  assume  the 
merit  of  the  original  composer  might  thus  be  removed. 
For  this  end,  your  assistance  as  an  amanuensis  would  be 
necessary. 

"  You  will  perceive  that  all  these  projects  depended 


102  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OK, 

on  the  seasonable  arrival  of  intelligence  from .    The 

delay  of  another  week  would  seal  my  destruction.  The 
silence  might  arise  from  the  foundering  of  the  ship  and 
the  destruction  of  all  on  board.  In  this  case,  the  in 
surance  was  not  forfeited,  but  payment  could  not  be  ob 
tained  within  a  year.  Meanwhile,  the  premium  and 
other  debts  must  be  immediately  discharged,  and  this 
was  beyond  my  power.  Meanwhile,  I  was  to  live  in  a 
manner  that  would  not  belie  my  pretensions ;  but  my 
coffers  were  empty. 

"  I  cannot  adequately  paint  the  anxieties  with  which  I 
have  been  haunted.  Each  hour  has  added  to  the  burden 
of  my  existence,  till,  in  consequence  of  the  events  of 
this  day,  it  has  become  altogether  insupportable.  Some 
hours  ago,  I  was  summoned  by  Thetford  to  his  house. 
The  messenger  informed  me  that  tidings  had  been  re 
ceived  of  my  ship.  In  answer  to  my  eager  interroga 
tions,  he  could  give  no  other  information  than  that  she 
had  been  captured  by  the  British.  lie  was  unable  to 
relate  particulars. 

"News  of  her  safe  return  would,  indeed,  have  been 
far  more  acceptable ;  but  even  this  information  was  a 
source  of  infinite  congratulation.  It  precluded  the  de 
mand  of  my  insurers.  The  payment  of  other  debts 
might  be  postponed  for  a  month,  and  my  situation  be  the 
same  as  before  the  adoption  of  this  successless  scheme. 
Hope  and  joy  were  reinstated  in  my  bosom,  and  I  hasted 
to  Thetford's  counting-house. 

"  He  received  me  with  an  air  of  gloomy  dissatisfac 
tion.  I  accounted  for  his  sadness  by  supposing  him 
averse  to  communicate  information  which  was  less  fa 
vourable  than  our  wishes  had  dictated.  He  confirmed, 
with  visible  reluctance,  the  news  of  her  capture.  He 
had  just  received  letters  from  his  brother,  acquainting 
him  with  all  particulars,  and  containing  the  official  docu 
ments  of  this  transaction. 

"  This  had  no  tendency  to  damp  my  satisfaction,  and 
I  proceeded  to  peruse  with  eagerness  the  papers  which 
he  put  into  my  hand.  I  had  not  proceeded  far,  when 
my  joyous  hopes  vanished.  Two  French  mulattoes  had, 
after  much  solicitation,  and  the  most  solemn  promises  to 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  J793-  IO3 

carry  with  them  no  articles  which  the  laws  of  war  decree 
to  be  contraband,  obtained  a  passage  in  the  vessel.  She 
was  speedily  encountered  by  a  privateer,  by  whom  every 
receptacle  was  ransacked.  In  a  chest,  belonging  to  the 
Frenchmen,  and  which  they  had  affirmed  to  contain  no 
thing  but  their  clothes,  were  found  two  sabres,  and  other 
accoutrements  of  an  officer  of  cavalry.  Under  this  pre 
tence,  the  vessel  was  captured  and  condemned,  and  this 
was  a  cause  of  forfeiture  which  had  not  been  provided 
against  in  the  contract  of  insurance. 

"  By  this  untoward  event  my  hopes  were  irreparably 
blasted.  The  utmost  efforts  were  demanded  to  conceal 
my  thoughts  from  my  companion.  The  anguish  that 
preyed  upon  my  heart  was  endeavoured  to  be  masked  by 
looks  of  indifference.  I  pretended  to  have  been  pre 
viously  informed  by  the  messenger  not  only  of  the  cap 
ture,  but  of  the  cause  that  led  to  it,  and  forbore  to  ex 
patiate  upon  my  loss,  or  to  execrate  the  authors  of  my 
disappointment.  My  mind,  however,  was  the  theatre  of 
discord  and  agony,  and  I  waited  with  impatience  for  an 
opportunity  to  leave  him. 

"  For  want  of  other  topics,  I  asked  by  whom  this  in 
formation  had  been  brought.  He  answered,  that  the 
bearer  was  Captain  Amos  Watson,  whose  vessel  had  been 
forfeited,  at  the  same  time,  under  a  different  pretence. 
He  added  that,  my  name  being  mentioned  accidentally 
to  Watson,  the  latter  had  betrayed  marks  of  great  sur 
prise,  and  been  very  earnest  in  his  inquiries  respecting 
my  situation.  Having  obtained  what  knowledge  Thet- 
ford  was  able  to  communicate,  the  captain  had  departed, 
avowing  a  former  acquaintance  with  me,  and  declaring 
his  intention  of  paying  me  a  visit. 

"  These  words  operated  on  my  frame  like  lightning. 
All  within  me  was  tumult  and  terror,  and  I  rushed  pre 
cipitately  out  of  the  house.  I  went  forward  with  un 
equal  steps,  and  at  random.  Some  instinct  led  me  into 
the  fields,  and  I  was  not  apprized  of  the  direction  of  my 
steps,  till,  looking  up,  I  found  myself  upon  the  shore  of 
Schuylkill. 

"Thus  was  I,  a  second  time,  overborne  by  hopeless 


104  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

and  incurable  evils.  An  interval  of  motley  feelings,  of 
specious  artifice  and  contemptible  imposture,  had  elapsed 
since  my  meeting  with  the  stranger  at  Wilmington.  Then 
my  forlorn  state  had  led  me  to  the  brink  of  suicide.  A 
brief  and  feverish  respite  had  been  afforded  me,  but  now 
was  I  transported  to  the  verge  of  the  same  abyss. 

"Amos  Watson  was  the  brother  of  the  angel  whom  I 
had  degraded  and  destroyed.  What  but  fiery  indigna 
tion  and  unappeasable  vengeance  could  lead  him  into  my 
presence?  With  what  heart  could  I  listen  to  his  invec 
tives  ?  How  could  I  endure  to  look  upon  the  face  of  one 
whom  I  had  loaded  with  such  atrocious  and  intolerable 
injuries? 

"  I  was  acquainted  with  his  loftiness  of  mind ;  his  de 
testation  of  injustice,  and  the  whirlwind  passions  that 
ingratitude  and  villany  like  mine  were  qualified  to  awaken 
in  his  bosom.  I  dreaded  not  his  violence.  The  death 
that  he  might  be  prompted  to  inflict  was  no  object  of 
aversion.  It  was  poverty  and  disgrace,  the  detection  of 
my  crimes,  the  looks  and  voice  of  malediction  and  up 
braiding,  from  which  my  cowardice  shrunk. 

"  Why  should  I  live  ?  I  must  vanish  from  that  stage 
which  I  had  lately  trodden.  My  flight  must  be  instant 
and  precipitate.  To  be  a  fugitive  from  exasperated 
creditors,  and  from  the  industrious  revenge  of  Watson, 
was  an  easy  undertaking;  but  whither  could  I  fly,  where 
I  should  not  be  pursued  by  the  phantoms  of  remorse,  by 
the  dread  of  hourly  detection,  by  the  necessities  of  hun 
ger  and  thirst  ?  In  what  scene  should  I  be  exempt  from 
servitude  and  drudgery  ?  Was  my  existence  embellished 
with  enjoyments  that  would  justify  my  holding  it,  en 
cumbered  with  hardships  and  immersed  in  obscurity? 

"  There  was  no  room  for  hesitation.  To  rush  into  the 
stream  before  me,  and  put  an  end  at  once  to  my  life  and 
the  miseries  inseparably  linked  with  it,  was  the  only 
proceeding  which  fate  had  left  to  my  choice.  My 
muscles  were  already  exerted  for  this  end,  when  the 
helpless  condition  of  Clcmenza  WHS  remembered.  What 
provision  could  I  make  against  the  evils  that  threatened 
her?  Should  I  leave  her  utterly  forlorn  and  friendless? 
Mrs.  Wcntworth's  temper  was  forgiving  and  compas- 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  /79J.  1 05 

sionate.  Adversity  had  taught  her  to  participate  and 
her  wealth  enabled  her  to  relieve  distress.  Who  was 
there  by  whom  such  powerful  claims  to  succour  and  pro 
tection  could  be  urged  as  by  this  desolate  girl?  Might 
I  not  state  her  situation  in  a  letter  to  this  lady,  and  urge 
irresistible  pleas  for  the  extension  of  her  kindness  to  this 
object? 

"  These  thoughts  made  me  suspend  my  steps.  I  de 
termined  to  seek  my  habitation  once  more,  and,  having 
written  and  deposited  this  letter,  to  return  to  the  execu 
tion  of  my  fatal  purpose.  I  had  scarcely  reached  my 
own  door,  when  some  one  approached  along  the  pave 
ment.  The  form,  at  first,  was  undistinguishable,  but,  by 
coming,  at  length,  within  the  illumination  of  a  lamp,  it 
was  perfectly  recognised. 

"  To  avoid  this  detested  interview  was  now  impossible. 
Watson  approached  and  accosted  me.  In  this  conflict 
of  tumultuous  feelings  I  was  still  able  to  maintain  an  air 
of  intrepidity.  His  demeanour  was  that  of  a  man  who 
struggles  with  his  rage.  His  accents  were  hurried,  and 
scarcely  articulate.  'I  have  ten  words  to  say  to  you,' 
said  he ;  '  lead  into  the  house,  and  to  some  private  room. 
My  business  with  you  will  be  despatched  in  a  breath.' 

"I  made  him  no  answer,  but  led  the  way  into  my 
house,  and  to  my  study.  On  entering  this  room,  I  put 
the  light  upon  the  table,  and,  turning  to  my  visitant, 
prepared  silently  to  hear  what  he  had  to  unfold.  He 
struck  his  clenched  hand  against  the  table  with  violence. 
His  motion  was  of  that  tempestuous  kind  as  to  over 
whelm  the  power  of  utterance,  and  found  it  easier  to  vent 
itself  in  gesticulations  than  in  words.  At  length  he 
exclaimed, — 

"  'It  is  well.  Now  has  the  hour,  so  long  and  so  im 
patiently  demanded  by  my  vengeance,  arrived.  Wei- 
beck  !  Would  that  my  first  words  could  strike  thee 
dead  !  They  will  so,  if  thou  hast  any  title  to  the  name 
of  man. 

"  'My  sister  is  dead;  dead  of  anguish  and  a  broken 
heart.  Remote  from  her  friends ;  in  a  hovel ;  the  abode 
of  indigence  and  misery. 

" '  Her  husband  is  no  more.      He  returned  after  a 


106  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

long  absence,  a  tedious  navigation,  and  vicissitudes  of 
hardships,  lie  flew  to  the  bosom  of  his  love;  of  his 
wife.  She  was  gone;  lost  to  him,  and  to  virtue.  In  a 
fit  of  desperation,  he  retired  to  his  chamber  and  de 
spatched  himself.  This  is  the  instrument  with  which 
the  deed  was  performed.' 

"  Saying  this,  Watson  took  a  pistol  from  his  pocket, 
and  held  it  to  my  head.  I  lifted  not  my  hand  to  turn 
aside  the  weapon.  I  did  not  shudder  at  the  spectacle, 
or  shrink  from  his  approaching  hand.  With  fingers 
clasped  together,  and  eyes  fixed  upon  the  floor,  I  waited 
till  his  fury  was  exhausted.  He  continued  : — 

"  'All  passed  in  a  few  hours.  The  elopement  of  his 
daughter, — the  death  of  his  son.  0  my  father !  Most 
loved  and  most  venerable  of  men  !  To  see  thee  changed 
into  a  maniac !  Haggard  and  wild !  Deterred  from 
outrage  on  thyself  and  those  around  thee  by  fetters  and 
stripes !  What  was  it  that  saved  me  from  a  like  fate  ? 
To  view  this  hideous  ruin,  and  to  think  by  whom  it  was 
occasioned  !  Yet  not  to  become  frantic  like  thee,  my 
father ;  or  not  destroy  myself  like  thee,  my  brother ! 
My  friend  ! — 

"'No.  For  this  hour  was  I  reserved;  to  avenge 
your  wrongs  and  mine  in  the  blood  of  this  ungrateful 
villain. 

"  '  There,'  continued  he,  producing  a  second  pistol, 
and  tendering  it  to  me, — '  there  is  thy  defence.  Take 
we  opposite  sides  of  this  table,  and  fire  at  the  same 
instant.' 

"  During  this  address  I  was  motionless.  He  tendered 
the  pistol,  but  I  unclasped  not  my  hands  to  receive  it. 

"'Why  do  you  hesitate?'  resumed  he.  'Let  the 
chance  between  us  be  equal,  or  fire  you  first.' 

"  'No,'  said  I,  'I  am  ready  to  die  by  your  hand.  I 
wish  it.  It  will  preclude  the  necessity  of  performing 
the  office  for  myself.  I  have  injured  you,  and  merit  all 
that  your  vengeance  can  inflict.  I  know  your  nature 
too  well  to  believe  that  my  death  will  be  perfect  expia 
tion.  When  the  gust  of  indignation  is  past,  the  remem 
brance  of  your  deed  will  only  add  to  your  sum  of  misery ; 
yet  I  do  not  love  you  well  enough  to  wish  that  you 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  IO/ 

would  forbear.  I  desire  to  die,  and  to  die  by  another's 
hand  rather  than  my  own." 

"'Coward!'  exclaimed  Watson,  with  augmented  ve 
hemence,  'you  know  me  too  well  to  believe  me  capable 
of  assassination.  Vile  subterfuge  !  Contemptible  pica! 
Take  the  pistol  and  defend  yourself.  You  want  not  the 
power  or  the  will ;  but,  knowing  that  I  spurn  at  murder, 
you  think  your  safety  will  be  found  in  passiveness.  Your 
refusal  will  avail  you  little.  Your  fame,  if  not  your 
life,  is  at  my  mercy.  If  you  falter  now,  I  will  allow  you 
to  live,  but  only  till  I  have  stabbed  your  reputation.' 

"  I  now  fixed  my  eyes  steadfastly  upon  him,  and 
spoke : — '  How  much  a  stranger  are  you  to  the  feelings 
of  Welbeck!  How  poor  a  judge  of  his  cowardice  !  I 
take  your  pistol,  and  consent  to  your  conditions.' 

"We  took  opposite  sides  of  the  table.  'Are  you 
ready?'  he  cried  ;  '  fire  !' 

"  Both  triggers  were  drawn  at  the  same  instant.  Both 
pistols  were  discharged.  Mine  was  negligently  raised. 
Such  is  the  untoward  chance  that  presides  over  human 
affairs;  such  is  the  malignant  destiny  by  which  my  steps 
have  ever  been  pursued.  The  bullet  whistled  harmlessly 
by  me, — levelled  by  an  eye  that  never  before  failed,  and 
with  so  small  an  interval  between  us.  I  escaped,  but 
my  blind  and  random  shot  took  place  in  his  heart. 

"There  is  the  fruit  of  this  disastrous  meeting.  The 
catalogue  of  death  is  thus  completed.  Thou  sleepest, 
Watson !  Thy  sister  is  at  rest,  and  so  art  thou.  Thy 
vows  of  vengeance  are  at  an  end.  It  was  not  reserved 
for  thee  to  be  thy  own  and  thy  sister's  avenger.  Wei- 
beck's  measure  of  transgressions  is  now  full,  and  his  own 
hand  must  execute  the  justice  that  is  due  to  him." 


CHAPTER   XII. 

SUCH  was  Welbeck's  tale,  listened  to  by  me  with  an 
eagerness  in  which  every  faculty  was  absorbed.  How 
adverse  to  my  dreams  were  the  incidents  that  had  just 
been  related !  The  curtain  was  lifted,  and  a  scene  of 
guilt  and  ignominy  disclosed  where  my  rash  and  inex 
perienced  youth  had  suspected  nothing  but  loftiness  and 
magnanimity. 

For  a  while  the  wondrousness  of  this  tale  kept  me  from 
contemplating  the  consequences  that  awaited  us.  My 
unfledged  fancy  had  not  hitherto  soared  to  this  pitch. 
All  was  astounding  by  its  novelty,  or  terrific  by  its  horror. 
The  very  scene  of  these  offences  partook,  to  my  rustic 
apprehension,  of  fairy  splendour  and  magical  abruptness. 
My  understanding  was  bemazcd,  and  my  senses  were 
taught  to  distrust  their  own  testimony. 

From  this  musing  state  I  was  recalled  by  my  companion, 
who  said  to  me,  in  solemn  accents,  "Mervyn!  I  have  but 
two  requests  to  make.  Assist  me  to  bury  these  remains, 
and  then  accompany  me  across  the  river.  I  have  no  power 
to  compel  your  silence  on  the  acts  that  you  have  wit 
nessed.  I  have  meditated  to  benefit  as  well  as  to  injure 
you;  but  I  do  not  desire  that  your  demeanour  should 
conform  to  any  other  standard  than  justice.  You  have 
promised,  and  to  that  promise  I  trust. 

"If  you  choose  to  fly  from  this  scene,  to  withdraw 
yourself  from  what  you  may  conceive  to  be  a  theatre  of 
guilt  or  peril,  the  avenues  are  open ;  retire  unmolested 
and  in  silence.  If  you  have  a  manlike  spirit,  if  you  are 
grateful  for  the  benefits  bestowed  upon  you,  if  your  dis 
cernment  enables  you  to  see  that  compliance  with  my 
108 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  ICX) 

request  will  entangle  you  in  no  guilt  and  betray  you  into 
no  danger,  stay,  and  aid  rue  in  hiding  these  remains 
from  human  scrutiny. 

"Watson  is  beyond  the  reach  of  further  injury.  I 
never  intended  him  harm,  though  I  have  torn  from  him 
his  sister  and  friend,  and  have  brought  his  life  to  an  un 
timely  close.  To  provide  him  a  grave  is  a  duty  that  I 
owe  to  the  dead  and  to  the  living.  I  shall  quickly  place 
myself  beyond  the  reach  of  inquisitors  and  judges,  but 
would  willingly  rescue  from  molestation  or  suspicion  those 
whom  I  shall  leave  behind." 

What  would  have  been  the  fruit  of  deliberation,  if  I 
had  had  the  time  or  power  to  deliberate,  I  know  not. 
My  thoughts  flowed  with  tumult  and  rapidity.  To  shut 
this  spectacle  from  my  view  was  the  first  impulse ;  but  to 
desert  this  man,  in  a  time  of  so  much  need,  appeared  a 
thankless  and  dastardly  deportment.  To  remain  where 
I  was,  to  conform  implicitly  to  his  direction,  required  no 
effort.  Some  fear  was  connected  with  his  presence,  and 
with  that  of  the  dead ;  but,  in  the  tremulous  confusion  of 
my  present  thoughts,  solitude  would  conjure  up  a  thou 
sand  phantoms. 

I  made  no  preparation  to  depart.  I  did  not  verbally 
assent  to  his  proposal.  He  interpreted  my  silence  into 
acquiescence.  He  wrapped  the  body  in  the  carpet,  and 
then,  lifting  one  end,  cast  at  me  a  look  which  indicated 
his  expectations  that  I  would  aid  him  in  lifting  this 
ghastly  burden.  During  this  process,  the  silence  was 
unbroken. 

I  knew  not  whither  he  intended  to  convey  the  corpse. 
lie  had  talked  of  burial,  but  no  receptacle  had  been  pro 
vided.  How  far  safety  might  depend  upon  his  conduct 
in  this  particular,  I  was  unable  to  estimate.  I  was  in 
too  heartless  a  mood  to  utter  my  doubts.  I  followed  his 
example  in  raising  the  corpse  from  the  floor. 

He  led  the  way  into  the  passage  and  down-stairs. 
Having  reached  the  first  floor,  he  unbolted  a  door  which 
led  into  the  cellar.  The  stairs  and  passage  were  illumi 
nated  by  lamps  that  hung  from  the  ceiling  and  were 
accustomed  to  burn  during  the  night.  Now,  however, 
we  were  entering  darksome  and  murky  recesses. 


110  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

"Return,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  command,  "and  fetch 
the  light.  I  will  wait  for  you." 

I  obeyed.  As  I  returned  with  the  light,  a  suspicion 
stole  into  my  mind,  that  Wclbeck  had  taken  this  oppor 
tunity  to  fly ;  and  that,  on  regaining  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
I  should  find  the  spot  deserted  by  all  but  the  dead.  My 
blood  was  chilled  by  this  image.  The  momentary  reso 
lution  it  inspired  was  to  follow  the  example  of  the  fugi 
tive,  and  leave  the  persons  whom  the  ensuing  day  might 
convene  on  this  spot,  to  form  their  own  conjectures  as  to 
the  cause  of  this  catastrophe. 

Meanwhile,  I  cast  anxious  eyes  forward.  Welbcck 
was  discovered  in  the  same  place  and  posture  in  which 
he  had  been  left.  Lifting  the  corpse  and  its  shroud  in  his 
arms,  he  directed  me  to  follow  him.  The  vaults  beneath 
were  lofty  and  spacious.  He  passed  from  one  to  the 
other  till  we  reached  a  small  and  remote  cell.  Here  he 
cast  his  burden  on  the  ground.  In  the  fall,  the  face  of 
Watson  chanced  to  be  disengaged  from  its  covering.  Its 
closed  eyes  and  sunken  muscles  were  rendered  in  a  ten 
fold  degree  ghastly  and  rueful  by  the  feeble  light  which 
the  candle  shed  upon  it. 

This  object  did  not  escape  the  attention  of  Wclbeck. 
lie  leaned  against  the  wall,  and,  folding  his  arms,  re 
signed  himself  to  reverie.  He  gazed  upon  the  counte 
nance  of  Watson,  but  his  looks  denoted  his  attention  to 
be  elsewhere  employed. 

As  to  me,  my  state  will  not  be  easily  described.  My 
eye  roved  fearfully  from  one  object  to  another.  By  turns 
it  was  fixed  upon  the  murdered  person  and  the  murderer. 
The  narrow  cell  in  which  we  stood,  its  rudely-fashioned 
walls  and  arches,  destitute  of  communication  with  the 
external  air,  and  its  palpable  dark  scarcely  penetrated 
by  the  rays  of  a  solitary  candle,  added  to  the  silence 
which  was  deep  and  universal,  produced  an  impression 
on  my  fancy  which  no  time  will  obliterate. 

Perhaps  my  imagination  was  distempered  by  terror. 
The  incident  which  I  am  going  to  relate  may  appear  to 
have  existed  only  in  my  fancy.  Be  that  as  it  may,  I 
experienced  all  the  effects  which  the  fullest  belief  is 
adapted  to  produce.  Glancing  vaguely  at  the  counte- 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793-  III 

nance  of  Watson,  my  attention  was  arrested  by  a  con 
vulsive  motion  in  the  eyelids.  This  motion  increased, 
till  at  length  the  eyes  opened,  and  a  glance,  languid  but 
wild,  was  thrown  around.  Instantly  they  closed,  and 
the  tremulous  appearance  vanished. 

I  started  from  my  place  and  was  on  the  point  of  utter 
ing  some  involuntary  exclamation.  At  the  same  moment, 
Welbeck  seemed  to  recover  from  his  reverie. 

"How  is  this?"  said  he.  "Why  do  we  linger  here? 
Every  moment  is  precious.  We  cannot  dig  for  him  a 
grave  with  our  hands.  Wait  here,  while  I  go  in  search 
of  a  spade." 

Saying  this,  he  snatched  the  candle  from  my  hand,  and 
hasted  away.  My  eye  followed  the  light  as  its  gleams 
shifted  their  place  upon  the  walls  and  ceilings,  and,  gra 
dually  vanishing,  gave  place  to  unrespited  gloom.  This 
proceeding  was  so  unexpected  and  abrupt,  that  I  had  no 
time  to  remonstrate  against  it.  Before  I  retrieved  the 
power  of  reflection,  the  light  had  disappeared  and  the 
footsteps  were  no  longer  to  be  heard. 

I  was  not,  on  ordinary  occasions,  destitute  of  equa 
nimity  ;  but  perhaps  the  imagination  of  man  is  naturally 
abhorrent  of  death,  until  tutored  into  indifference  by 
habit.  Every  circumstance  combined  to  fill  me  with 
shuddering  and  panic.  For  a  while,  I  was  enabled  to 
endure  my  situation  by  the  exertions  of  my  reason. 
That  the  lifeless  remains  of  a  human  being  are  power 
less  to  injure  or  benefit,  I  was  thoroughly  persuaded.  I 
summoned  this  belief  to  my  aid,  and  was  able,  if  not  to 
subdue,  yet  to  curb,  my  fears.  I  listened  to  catch  the 
sound  of  the  returning  footsteps  of  Welbeck,  and  hoped 
that  every  new  moment  would  terminate  my  solitude. 

No  signal  of  his  coming  was  afforded.  At  length  it 
occurred  to  me  that  Welbeck  had  gone  with  no  intention 
to  return;  that  his  malice  had  seduced  me  hither  to 
encounter  the  consequences  of  his  deed.  He  had  fled 
and  barred  every  door  behind  him.  This  suspicion 
may  well  be  supposed  to  overpower  my  courage,  and  to 
call  forth  desperate  efforts  for  my  deliverance. 

I  extended  my  hands  and  went  forward.  I  had  been 
too  little  attentive  to  the  situation  and  direction  of  these 


112  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

vaults  and  passages,  to  go  forward  with  undeviating 
accuracy.  My  fears  likewise  tended  to  confuse  my  per 
ceptions  and  bewilder  my  steps.  Notwithstanding  the 
danger  of  encountering  obstructions,  I  rushed  towards 
the  entrance  with  precipitation. 

My  temerity  was  quickly  punished.  In  a  moment,  I 
was  repelled  by  a  jutting  angle  of  the  wall,  with  such 
force  that  I  staggered  backward  and  fell.  The  blow  was 
stunning,  and,  when  I  recovered  my  senses,  I  perceived 
that  a  torrent  of  blood  was  gushing  from  my  nostrils. 
My  clothes  were  moistened  with  this  unwelcome  effusion, 
and  I  could  not  but  reflect  on  the  hazard  which  I  should 
incur  by  being  detected  in  this  recess,  covered  by  these 
accusing  stains. 

This  reflection  once  more  set  me  on  my  feet  and  incited 
my  exertions.  I  now  proceeded  with  greater  wariness 
arid  caution.  I  had  lost  all  distinct  notions  of  rny  way. 
My  motions  were  at  random.  All  my  labour  was  to 
shun  obstructions  and  to  advance  whenever  the  vacuity 
would  permit.  By  this  means,  the  entrance  was  at 
length  found,  and,  after  various  efforts,  I  arrived,  beyond 
my  hopes,  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase. 

I  ascended,  but  quickly  encountered  an  insuperable 
impediment.  The  door  at  the  stair-head  was  closed  and 
barred.  My  utmost  strength  was  exerted  in  vain,  to 
break  the  lock  or  the  hinges.  Thus  were  my  direst  ap 
prehensions  fulfilled.  Welbeck  had  left  me  to  sustain 
the  charge  of  murder ;  to  obviate  suspicions  the  most 
atrocious  and  plausible  that  the  course  of  human  events 
is  capable  of  producing. 

Here  I  must  remain  till  the  morrow ;  till  some  one 
can  be  made  to  overhear  my  calls  and  come  to  ray  de 
liverance.  What  effects  will  my  appearance  produce  on 
the  spectator  ?  Terrified  by  phantoms  and  stained  with 
blood,  shall  I  not  exhibit  the  tokens  of  a  maniac  as  well 
as  an  assassin  ? 

The  corpse  of  Watson  will  quickly  be  discovered.  If, 
previous  to  this  disclosure,  I  should  change  my  blood 
stained  garments  and  withdraw  into  the  country,  shall  I 
not  be  pursued  by  the  most  vehement  suspicions,  and, 
perhaps,  hunted  to  my  obscurest  retreat  by  the  minis- 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  113 

ters  of  justice  ?  I  am  innocent ;  but  my  tale,  however 
circumstantial  or  true,  will  scarcely  suffice  for  my  vindi 
cation.  My  flight  will  be  construed  into  a  proof  of  in 
contestable  guilt. 

While  harassed  by  these  thoughts,  my  attention  was 
attracted  by  a  faint  gleam  cast  upon  the  bottom  of  the 
staircase.  It  grew  stronger,  hovered  for  a  moment  in 
my  sight,  and  then  disappeared.  That  it  proceeded 
from  a  lamp  or  candle,  borne  by  some  one  along  the 
passages,  was  no  untenable  opinion,  but  was  far  less 
probable  than  that  the  effulgence  was  meteorous.  I 
confided  in  the  latter  supposition,  and  fortified  myself 
anew  against  the  dread  of  preternatural  dangers.  My 
thoughts  reverted  to  the  contemplation  of  the  hazards 
and  suspicions  which  flowed  from  my  continuance  in 
this  spot. 

In  the  midst  of  my  perturbed  musing,  my  attention 
was  again  recalled  by  an  illumination  like  the  former. 
Instead  of  hovering  and  vanishing,  it  was  permanent. 
No  ray  could  be  more  feeble ;  but  the  tangible  obscurity 
to  which  it  succeeded  rendered  it  conspicuous  as  an 
electrical  flash.  For  a  while  I  eyed  it  without  moving 
from  my  place,  and  in  momentary  expectation  of  its 
disappearance. 

Remarking  its  stability,  the  propriety  of  scrutinizing 
it  more  nearly,  and  of  ascertaining  the  source  whence  it 
flowed,  was  at  length  suggested.  Hope,  as  well  as 
curiosity,  was  the  parent  of  my  conduct.  Though 
utterly  at  a  loss  to  assign  the  cause  of  this  appearance, 
I  was  willing  to  believe  some  connection  between  that 
cause  and  the  means  of  my  deliverance. 

I  had  scarcely  formed  the  resolution  of  descending 
the  stair,  when  my  hope  was  extinguished  by  the  recol 
lection  that  the  cellar  had  narrow  and  grated  windows, 
through  which  light  from  the  street  might  possibly  have 
found  access.  A  second  recollection  supplanted  this 
belief,  for  in  my  way  to  this  staircase  my  attention 
would  have  been  solicited,  and  my  steps,  in  some  degree, 
been  guided,  by  light  coming  through  these  avenues. 

Having  returned  to  the  bottom  of  the  stair,  I  per 
ceived  every  part  of  the  long-drawn  passage  illuminated. 
8 


114  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

I  threw  a  glance  forward  to  the  quarter  whence  the  rays 
seemed  to  proceed,  and  beheld,  at  a  considerable  dis 
tance,  Welbeck  in  the  cell  which  I  had  left,  turning  up 
the  earth  with  a  spade. 

After  a  pause  of  astonishment,  the  nature  of  the  error 
which  I  had  committed  rushed  upon  my  apprehension. 
I  now  perceived  that  the  darkness  had  misled  me  to  a 
different  staircase  from  that  which  I  had  originally  de 
scended.  It  was  apparent  that  Welbeck  intended  me 
no  evil,  but  had  really  gone  in  search  of  the  instrument 
which  he  had  mentioned. 

This  discovery  overwhelmed  me  with  contrition  and 
shame,  though  it  freed  me  from  the  terrors  of  imprison 
ment  and  accusation.  To  return  to  the  cell  which  I  had 
left,  and  where  Welbeck  was  employed  in  his  disastrous 
office,  was  the  expedient  which  regard  to  my  own  safety 
unavoidably  suggested. 

Welbeck  paused  at  my  approach,  and  betrayed  a  mo 
mentary  consternation  at  the  sight  of  my  ensanguined 
visage.  The  blood,  by  some  inexplicable  process  of 
nature,  perhaps  by  the  counteracting  influence  of  fear, 
had  quickly  ceased  to  flow.  Whether  the  cause  of  my 
evasion,  and  of  my  flux  of  blood,  was  guessed,  or  whether 
his  attention  was  withdrawn,  by  more  momentous  objects, 
from  my  condition,  he  proceeded  in  his  task  in  silence. 

A  shallow  bed  and  a  slight  covering  of  clay  were  pro 
vided  for  the  hapless  Watson.  Welbeck's  movements 
were  hurried  and  tremulous.  His  countenance  betokened 
a  mind  engrossed  by  a  single  purpose,  in  some  degree 
foreign  to  the  scene  before  him.  An  intensity  and 
fixedness  of  features  were  conspicuous,  that  led  me  to 
saspect  the  subversion  of  his  reason. 

Having  finished  the  task,  he  threw  aside  his  imple 
ment.  He  then  put  into  my  hand  a  pocket-book,  saying 
it  belonged  to  Watson,  and  might  contain  something 
serviceable  to  the  living.  I  might  make  what  use  of  it 
I  thought  proper.  He  then  remounted  the  stairs,  and, 
placing  the  candle  on  a  table  in  the  hall,  opened  the 
principal  door  and  went  forth.  I  was  driven,  by  a  sort 
of  mechanical  impulse,  in  his  footsteps.  I  followed  him 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  11$ 

because  it  was  agreeable  to  him  and  because  I  knew  not 
whither  else  to  direct  my  steps. 

The  streets  were  desolate  and  silent.  The  watchman's 
call,  remotely  and  faintly  heard,  added  to  the  general 
solemnity.  I  followed  my  companion  in  a  state  of  mind 
not  easily  described.  I  had  no  spirit  even  to  inquire 
whither  he  was  going.  It  was  not  till  we  arrived  at  the 
water's  edge  that  I  persuaded  myself  to  break  silence. 
I  then  began  to  reflect  on  the  degree  in  which  his  pre 
sent  schemes  might  endanger  Welbeck  or  myself.  I  had 
acted  long  enough  a  servile  and  mechanical  part ;  and 
been  guided  by  blind  and  foreign  impulses.  It  was  time 
to  lay  aside  my  fetters,  and  demand  to  know  whither  the 
path  tended  in  which  I  was  importuned  to  walk. 

Meanwhile  I  found  myself  entangled  among  boats  and 
shipping.  I  am  unable  to  describe  the  spot  by  any  in 
disputable  tokens.  I  know  merely  that  it  was  the  termi 
nation  of  one  of  the  principal  streets.  Here  Welbeck 
selected  a  boat  and  prepared  to  enter  it.  For  a  moment 
I  hesitated  to  comply  with  his  apparent  invitation.  I 
stammered  out  an  interrogation: — "Why  is  this?  Why 
should  we  cross  the  river  ?  What  service  can  I  do  for 
you  ?  I  ought  to  know  the  purpose  of  my  voyage  before 
I  enter  it." 

He  checked  himself  and  surveyed  me  for  a  minute  in 
silence.  "What  do  you  fear?"  said  he.  "Have  I  not 
explained  my  wishes  ?  Merely  cross  the  river  with  me, 
for  I  cannot  navigate  a  boat  by  myself.  Is  there  any 
thing  arduous  or  mysterious  in  this  undertaking  ?  we 
part  on  the  Jersey  shore,  and  I  shall  leave  you  to  your 
destiny.  All  I  shall  ask  from  you  will  be  silence,  and 
to  hide  from  mankind  what  you  know  concerning  me." 

He  now  entered  the  boat  and  urged  me  to  follow  his 
example.  I  reluctantly  complied  I  perceived  that  the 
boat  contained  but  one  oar,  and  that  was  a  small  one. 
He  seemed  startled  and  thrown  into  great  perplexity  by 
this  discovery.  "It  will  be  impossible,"  said  he,  in  a 
tone  of  panic  and  vexation,  "to  procure  another  at  this 
hour:  what  is  to  be  done?" 

This  impediment  was  by  no  means  insuperable.  I  had 
sinewy  arms,  and  knew  well  how  to  use  an  oar  for  the 


Il6  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

double  purpose  of  oar  and  rudder.  I  took  my  station  at 
the  stern,  and  quickly  extricated  the  boat  from  its  neigh 
bours  and  from  the  wharves.  I  was  wholly  unacquainted 
with  the  river.  The  bar  by  which  it  was  encumbered  I 
knew  to  exist,  but  in  what  direction  and  to  what  extent 
it  existed,  and  how  it  might  be  avoided  in  the  present 
state  of  the  tide,  I  knew  not.  It  was  probable,  there 
fore,  unknowing  as  I  was  of  the  proper  track,  that  our 
boat  would  speedily  have  grounded. 

My  attention,  meanwhile,  was  fixed  upon  the  oar. 
My  companion  sat  at  the  prow,  and  was  in  a  consider 
able  degree  unnoticed.  I  cast  my  eyes  occasionally  at 
the  scene  which  I  had  left.  Its  novelty,  joined  with  the 
incidents  of  my  condition,  threw  me  into  a  state  of  sus 
pense  and  wonder  which  frequently  slackened  my  hand 
and  left  the  vessel  to  be  driven  by  the  downward  cur 
rent.  Lights  were  sparingly  seen,  and  these  were  per 
petually  fluctuating,  as  masts,  yards,  and  hulls  were  in 
terposed,  and  passed  before  them.  In  proportion  as  we 
receded  from  the  shore,  the  clamours  seemed  to  multiply, 
and  the  suggestion  that  the  city  was  involved  in  con 
fusion  and  uproar  did  not  easily  give  way  to  maturer 
thoughts.  Twelve  was  the  hour  cried,  and  this  ascended 
at  once  from  all  quarters,  and  was  mingled  with  the 
baying  of  dogs,  so  as  to  produce  trepidation  and  alarm. 

From  this  state  of  magnificent  and  awful  feeling  I  was 
suddenly  called  by  the  conduct  of  Welbeck.  We  had 
scarcely  moved  two  hundred  yards  from  the  shore,  when 
he  plunged  into  the  water.  The  first  conception  was 
that  some  implement  or  part  of  the  boat  had  fallen  over 
board.  I  looked  back  and  perceived  that  his  seat  was 
vacant.  In  my  first  astonishment  I  loosened  my  hold 
of  the  oar,  and  it  floated  away.  The  surface  was  smooth 
as  glass,  and  the  eddy  occasioned  by  his  sinking  was 
scarcely  visible.  I  had  not  time  to  determine  whether 
this  was  designed  or  accidental.  Its  suddenness  de 
prived  me  of  the  power  to  exert  myself  for  his  succour. 
I  wildly  gazed  around  me,  in  hopes  of  seeing  him  rise. 
After  some  time  my  attention  was  drawn,  by  the  sound 
of  agitation  in  the  water,  to  a  considerable  distance. 

It  was  too  dark  for  any  thing  to  be  distinctly  seen. 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  1 1/ 

There  was  no  cry  for  help.  The  noise  was  like  that  of 
one  vigorously  struggling  for  a  moment,  and  then  sinking 
to  the  bottom.  I  listened  with  painful  eagerness,  but 
was  unable  to  distinguish  a  third  signal.  He  sunk  to 
rise  no  more. 

I  was  for  a  time  inattentive  to  my  own  situation. 
The  dreadfulness  and  unexpectedness  of  this  catastrophe 
occupied  me  wholly.  The  quick  motion  of  the  lights 
upon  the  shore  showed  me  that  I  was  borne  rapidly  along 
with  the  tide.  How  to  help  myself,  how  to  impede  my 
course  or  to  regain  either  shore,  since  I  had  lost  the  oar, 
I  was  unable  to  tell.  I  was  no  less  at  a  loss  to  con 
jecture  whither  the  current,  if  suffered  to  control  my 
vehicle,  would  finally  transport  me. 

The  disappearance  of  lights  and  buildings,  and  the 
diminution  of  the  noises,  acquainted  me  that  I  had 
passed  the  town.  It  was  impossible  longer  to  hesitate. 
The  shore  was  to  be  regained  by  one  way  only,  which 
was  swimming.  To  any  exploit  of  this  kind,  my  strength 
and  my  skill  were  adequate.  I  threw  away  my  loose 
gown ;  put  the  pocket-book  of  the  unfortunate  Watson 
in  my  mouth,  to  preserve  it  from  being  injured  by 
moisture ;  and  committed  myself  to  the  stream. 

I  landed  in  a  spot  incommoded  with  mud  and  reeds. 
I  sunk  knee-deep  into  the  former,  and  was  exhausted  by 
the  fatigue  of  extricating  myself.  At  length  I  reco 
vered  firm  ground,  and  threw  myself  on  the  turf  to 
repair  my  wasted  strength,  and  to  reflect  on  the  mea 
sures  which  my  future  welfare  enjoined  me  to  pursue. 

What  condition  was  ever  parallel  to  mine  ?  The 
transactions  of  the  last  three  days  resembled  the  mon 
strous  creations  of  delirium.  They  were  painted  with 
vivid  hues  on  my  memory;  but  so  rapid  and  incongruous 
were  these  transitions,  that  I  almost  denied  belief  to 
their  reality.  They  exercised  a  bewildering  and  stupe 
fying  influence  on  my  mind,  from  which  the  meditations 
of  an  hour  were  scarcely  sufficient  to  relieve  me.  Gra 
dually  I  recovered  the  power  of  arranging  my  ideas  and 
forming  conclusions. 

Welbeck  was  dead.  His  property  was  swallowed  up, 
and  his  creditors  left  to  wonder  at  his  disappearance. 


Il8  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OK, 

All  that  was  left  was  the  furniture  of  his  house,  to  which 
Mrs.  Wentworth  would  lay  claim,  in  discharge  of  the 
unpaid  rent.  What  now  was  the  destiny  that  awaited 
the  lost  and  friendless  Mademoiselle  Lodi  ?  Where  was 
she  concealed  ?  Welheck  had  dropped  no  intimation  by 
which  I  might  be  led  to  suspect  the  place  of  her  abode. 
If  my  power,  in  other  respects,  could  have  contributed 
aught  to  her  relief,  my  ignorance  of  her  asylum  had 
utterly  disabled  me. 

But  what  of  the  murdered  person  ?  He  had  suddenly 
vanished  from  the  face  of  the  earth.  His  fate  and  the 
place  of  his  interment  would  probably  be  suspected  arid 
ascertained.  Was  I  sure  to  escape  from  the  conse 
quences  of  this  deed  ?  Watson  had  relatives  and 
friends.  WThat  influence  on  their  state  and  happiness 
his  untimely  and  mysterious  fate  would  possess,  it  was 
obvious  to  inquire.  This  idea  led  me  to  the  recollection 
of  his  pocket-book.  Some  papers  might  be  there  ex 
planatory  of  his  situation. 

I  resumed  my  feet.  I  knew  not  where  to  direct  my 
steps.  I  was  dropping  with  wet,  and  shivering  with  the 
cold.  I  was  destitute  of  habitation  and  friend.  I  had 
neither  money  nor  any  valuable  thing  in  my  possession. 
I  moved  forward  mechanically  and  at  random.  Where  I 
landed  was  at  no  great  distance  from  the  verge  of  the 
town.  In  a  short  time  I  discovered  the  glimmering  of  a 
distant  lamp.  To  this  I  directed  my  steps,  and  here  I 
paused  to  examine  the  contents  of  the  pocket-book. 

I  found  three  bank-notes,  each  of  fifty  dollars,  en 
closed  in  a  piece  of  blank  paper.  Besides  these  were 
three  letters,  apparently  written  by  his  wife,  and  dated 
at  Baltimore.  They  were  brief,  but  composed  in  a  strain 
of  great  tenderness,  and  containing  affecting  allusions 
to  their  child.  I  could  gather,  from  their  date  and 
tenor,  that  they  were  received  during  his  absence  on  his 
recent  voyage;  that  her  condition  was  considerably  ne 
cessitous,  and  surrounded  by  wants  which  their  prolonged 
separation  had  increased. 

The  fourth  letter  was  open,  and  seemed  to  have  been 
very  lately  written.  It  was  directed  to  Mrs.  Mary  Wat- 
Bon.  He  informed  her  in  it  of  his  arrival  at  Philadel- 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793,  1 19 

plua  from  St.  Domingo;  of  the  loss  of  his  ship  and 
cargo;  and  of  his  intention  to  hasten  home  with  all 
possible  expedition.  He  told  her  that  all  was  lost  but 
one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  the  greater  part  of  which 
he  should  bring  with  him,  to  relieve  her  more  pressing 
wants.  The  letter  was  signed,  and  folded,  and  super 
scribed,  but  unsealed. 

A  little  consideration  showed  me  in  what  manner  it 
became  me,  on  this  occasion,  to  demean  myself.  I  put 
the  bank-notes  in  the  letter,  and  sealed  it  with  a  wafer ; 
a  few  of  which  were  found  in  the  pocket-book.  I  hesi 
tated  some  time  whether  I  should  add  any  thing  to  the 
information  which  the  letter  contained,  by  means  of  a 
pencil  which  offered  itself  to  my  view ;  but  I  concluded 
to  forbear.  I  could  select  no  suitable  terms  in  which  to 
communicate  the  mournful  truth.  I  resolved  to  deposit 
this  letter  at  the  post-office,  where  I  knew  letters  could 
be  left  at  all  hours. 

My  reflections  at  length  reverted  to  my  own  condition. 
What  was  the  fate  reserved  for  me  ?  How  far  my  safety 
might  be  affected  by  remaining  in  the  city,  in  conse 
quence  of  the  disappearance  of  Welbeck,  and  my  known 
connection  with  the  fugitive,  it  was  impossible  to  foresee. 
My  fears  readily  suggested  innumerable  embarrassments 
and  inconveniences  which  would  flow  from  this  source. 
Besides,  on  what  pretence  should  I  remain  ?  To  whom 
could  I  apply  for  protection  or  employment?  All  ave 
nues,  even  to  subsistence,  were  shut  against  me.  The 
country  was  my  sole  asylum.  Here,  in  exchange  for 
my  labour,  I  could  at  least  purchase  food,  safety,  and 
repose.  But,  if  my  choice  pointed  to  the  country,  there 
was  no  reason  for  a  moment's  delay.  It  would  be 
prudent  to  regain  the  fields,  and  be  far  from  this  de 
tested  city  before  the  rising  of  the  sun. 

Meanwhile  I  was  chilled  and  chafed  by  the  clothes 
that  I  wore.  To  change  them  for  others  was  absolutely 
necessary  to  my  ease.  The  clothes  which  I  wore  were 
not  my  own,  and  were  extremely  unsuitable  to  my  new 
condition.  My  rustic  and  homely  garb  was  deposited  in 
my  chamber  at  Welbeck's.  These  thoughts  suggested 
the  design  of  returning  thither.  I  considered  that,  pro- 


120  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    ORt 

bably,  the  servants  had  not  been  alarmed.  That  tho 
door  was  unfastened,  and  the  house  was  accessible.  It 
would  be  easy  to  enter  and  retire  without  notice ;  and 
this,  not  without  some  waverings  and  misgivings,  I 
presently  determined  to  do. 

Having  deposited  my  letter  at  the  office,  I  proceeded 
to  my  late  abode.  I  approached,  and  lifted  the  latch 
with  caution.  There  were  no  appearances  of  any  one 
having  been  disturbed.  I  procured  a  light  in  the  kitchen, 
and  hied  softly  and  with  dubious  footsteps  to  my  cham 
ber.  There  I  disrobed,  and  resumed  my  check  shirt, 
and  trowsers,  and  fustian  coat.  This  change  being  ac 
complished,  nothing  remained  but  that  I  should  strike 
into  the  country  with  the  utmost  expedition. 

In  a  momentary  review  which  I  took  of  the  past,  the 
design  for  which  Welbeck  professed  to  have  originally 
detained  me  in  his  service  occurred  to  my  mind.  I  knew 
the  danger  of  reasoning  loosely  on  the  subject  of  pro 
perty.  To  any  trinket  or  piece  of  furniture  in  this 
house  I  did  not  allow  myself  to  question  the  right  of 
Mrs.  Wentworth ;  a  right  accruing  to  her  in  consequence 
of  Welbeck's  failure  in  the  payment  of  his  rent;  but 
there  was  one  thing  which  I  felt  an  irresistible  desire, 
and  no  scruples  which  should  forbid  me,  to  possess,  and 
that  was,  the  manuscript  to  which  Welbeck  had  alluded, 
as  having  been  written  by  the  deceased  Lodi. 

I  was  well  instructed  in  Latin,  and  knew  the  Tuscan 
language  to  be  nearly  akin  to  it.  I  despaired  not  of 
being  at  some  time  able  to  cultivate  this  language,  and 
believed  that  the  possession  of  this  manuscript  might 
essentially  contribute  to  this  end,  as  well  as  to  many 
others  equally  beneficial.  It  was  easy  to  conjecture 
that  the  volume  was  to  be  found  among  his  printed  books, 
and  it  was  scarcely  less  easy  to  ascertain  the  truth  of 
this  conjecture.  I  entered,  not  without  tremulous  sen 
sations,  into  the  apartment  which  had  been  the  scene  of 
the  disastrous  interview  between  Watson  and  Welbeck. 
At  every  step  I  almost  dreaded  to  behold  the  spectre  of 
the  former  rise  before  me. 

Numerous  and  splendid  volumes  were  arranged  on 
mahogany  shelves,  and  screened  by  doors  of  glass.  I 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR   /7<7J.  121 

ran  swiftly  over  their  names,  and  was  at  length  so  fortu 
nate  as  to  light  upon  the  book  of  which  I  was  in  search. 
I  immediately  secured  it,  and,  leaving  the  candle  ex 
tinguished  on  a  table  in  the  parlour,  I  once  more  issued 
forth  into  the  street.  With  light  steps  and  palpitating 
heart  I  turned  my  face  towards  the  country.  My  necessi 
tous  condition  I  believed  would  justify  me  in  passing 
without  payment  the  Schuylkill  bridge,  and  the  eastern 
sky  began  to  brighten  with  the  dawn  of  morning  not  till 
I  had  gained  the  distance  of  nine  miles  from  the  city. 

Such  is  the  tale  which  I  proposed  to  relate  to  you. 
Such  are  the  memorable  incidents  of  five  days  of  my 
life ;  from  which  I  have  gathered  more  instruction  than 
from  the  whole  tissue  of  my  previous  existence.  Such 
are  the  particulars  of  my  knowledge  respecting  the  crimes 
and  misfortunes  of  Welbeck ;  which  the  insinuations  of 
Wortley,  and  my  desire  to  retain  your  good  opinion,  have 
induced  me  to  unfold. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

MERVYN'S  pause  allowed  his  auditors  to  reflect  on  the 
particulars  of  his  narration,  and  to  compare  them  with 
the  facts  with  a  knowledge  of  which  their  own  observa- 
tion  had  supplied  them.  My  profession  introduced  me 
to  the  friendship  of  Mrs.  Wentworth,  by  whom,  after 
the  disappearance  of  Welbeck,  many  circumstances  re 
specting  him  had  been  mentioned.  She  particularly 
dwelt  upon  the  deportment  and  appearance  of  this  youth, 
at  the  single  interview  which  took  place  between  them, 
and  her  representations  were  perfectly  conformable  to 
those  which  Mervyn  had  himself  delivered. 

Previously  to  this  interview,  Welbeck  had  insinuated 
to  her  that  a  recent  event  had  put  him  in  possession  cf 
the  truth  respecting  the  destiny  of  Clavering.  A  kins 
man  of  his  had  arrived  from  Portugal,  by  whom  this  in 
telligence  had  been  brought.  He  dexterously  eluded  her 
entreaties  to  be  furnished  with  minuter  information,  or 
to  introduce  this  kinsman  to  her  acquaintance.  As  soon 
as  Mervyn  was  ushered  into  her  presence,  she  suspected 
him  to  be  the  person  to  whom  Welbeck  had  alluded,  and 
this  suspicion  his  conversation  had  confirmed.  She  was 
at  a  loss  to  comprehend  the  reasons  of  the  silence  which 
he  so  pertinaciously  maintained. 

Her  uneasiness,  however,  prompted  her  to  renew  her 
solicitations.  On  the  day  subsequent  to  the  catastrophe 
related  by  Mervyn,  she  sent  a  messenger  to  Welbeck, 
witli  a  request  to  see  him.  Gabriel,  the  black  servant, 
informed  the  messenger  that  his  master  had  gone  into 
the  country  for  a  week.  At  the  end  of  the  week,  a 
messenger  was  again  despatched  with  the  same  errand. 
He  called  and  knocked,  but  no  one  answered  his  signals. 
122 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  f?93-  123 

He  examined  the  entrance  by  the  kitchen,  but  every 
avenue  was  closed.  It  appeared  that  the  house  was 
wholly  deserted. 

These  appearances  naturally  gave  birth  to  curiosity 
and  suspicion.  The  house  was  repeatedly  examined,  but 
the  solitude  and  silence  within  continued  the  same.  The 
creditors  of  Welbeck  were  alarmed  by  these  appearances, 
and  their  claims  to  the  property  remaining  in  the  house 
were  precluded  by  Mrs.  Wentworth,  who,  as  owner  of 
the  mansion,  was  legally  entitled  to  the  furniture,  in  place 
of  the  rent  which  Welbeck  had  suffered  to  accumulate. 

On  examining  the  dwelling,  all  that  was  valuable  and 
portable,  particularly  linen  and  plate,  was  removed.  The 
remainder  was  distrained,  but  the  tumults  of  pestilence 
succeeded  and  hindered  it  from  being  sold.  Things  were 
allowed  to  continue  in  their  former  situation,  and  the 
house  was  carefully  secured.  We  had  no  leisure  to  form 
conjectures  on  the  causes  of  this  desertion.  An  expla 
nation  was  afforded  us  by  the  narrative  of  this  youth. 
It  is  probable  that  the  servants,  finding  their  master's 
absence  continue,  had  pillaged  the  house  and  fled. 

Meanwhile,  though  our  curiosity  with  regard  to  Wel 
beck  was  appeased,  it  was  obvious  to  inquire  by  what 
series  of  inducements  and  events  Mervyn  was  reconducted 
to  the  city  and  led  to  the  spot  where  I  first  met  with 
him.  We  intimated  our  wishes  in  this  respect,  and  our 
young  friend  readily  consented  to  take  up  the  thread  of 
his  story  and  bring  it  down  to  the  point  that  was  desired. 
For  this  purpose,  the  ensuing  evening  was  selected.  Hav 
ing,  at  an  early  hour,  shut  ourselves  up  from  all  intruders 
and  visitors,  he  continued  as  follows. 

I  have  mentioned  that,  by  sunrise,  I  had  gained  the 
distance  of  many  miles  from  the  city.  My  purpose  was 
to  stop  at  the  first  farm-house,  and  seek  employment 
as  a  day-labourer.  The  first  person  whom  I  observed 
was  a  man  of  placid  mien  and  plain  garb.  Habitual 
benevolence  was  apparent  amidst  the  wrinkles  of  age. 
He  was  traversing  his  buckwheat-field,  and  measuring,  as 
it  seemed,  the  harvest  that  was  now  nearly  ripe. 

I  accosted   him  with  diffidence,   and   explained   my 


124  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

wishes.  lie  listened  to  my  tale  with  complacency,  in 
quired  into  my  name  and  family,  and  into  my  qualifications 
for  the  office  to  which  I  aspired.  My  answers  were 
candid  and  full. 

"Why,"  said  he,  "I  believe  thou  and  I  can  make  a 
bargain.  We  will,  at  least,  try  each  other  for  a  week  or 
two.  If  it  does  not  suit  our  mutual  convenience,  we  can 
change.  The  morning  is  damp  and  cool,  and  thy  plight 
does  not  appear  the  most  comfortable  that  can  be  imagined. 
Come  to  the  house  and  eat  some  breakfast." 

The  behaviour  of  this  good  man  filled  me  with  grati 
tude  and  joy.  Methought  I  could  embrace  him  as  a 
father,  and  entrance  into  his  house  appeared  like  return 
to  a  long-lost  and  much-loved  home.  My  desolate  and 
lonely  condition  appeared  to  be  changed  for  paternal  re 
gards  and  the  tenderness  of  friendship. 

These  emotions  were  confirmed  and  heightened  by  every 
object  that  presented  itself  under  this  roof.  The  family 
consisted  of  Mrs.  Hadwin,  two  simple  and  affectionate 
girls,  his  daughters,  and  servants.  The  manners  of  this 
family,  quiet,  artless,  and  cordial,  the  occupations  allotted 
me,  the  land  by  which  the  dwelling  was  surrounded,  its 
pure  airs,  romantic  walks,  and  exhaustless  fertility,  con 
stituted  a  powerful  contrast  to  the  scenes  which  I  had  left 
behind,  and  were  congenial  with  every  dictate  of  my  un 
derstanding  and  every  sentiment  that  glowed  in  my  heart. 

My  youth,  mental  cultivation,  and  circumspect  deport 
ment,  entitled  me  to  deference  and  confidence.  Each 
hour  confirmed  me  in  the  good  opinion  of  Mr.  Hadwin, 
and  in  the  affections  of  his  daughters.  In  the  mind  of 
my  employer,  the  simplicity  of  the  husbandman  and  the 
devotion  of  the  Quaker  were  blended  with  humanity  and 
intelligence.  The  sisters,  Susan  and  Eliza,  were  un 
acquainted  with  calamity  and  vice  through  the  medium 
of  either  observation  or  books.  They  were  strangers  to 
the-  benefits  of  an  elaborate  education,  but  they  were 
endowed  with  curiosity  and  discernment,  and  had  not 
suffered  their  slender  means  of  instruction  to  remain  un 
improved. 

The  sedateness  of  the  elder  formed  an  amusing  con 
trast  with  the  laughing  eye  and  untamable  vivacity  of 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  12$ 

the  younger;  but  they  smiled  and  they  wept  in  unison. 
They  thought  and  acted  in  different  but  not  discordant 
keys.  On  all  momentous  occasions,  they  reasoned  and 
felt  alike.  In  ordinary  cases,  they  separated,  as  it  were, 
into  different  tracks;  but  this  diversity  was  productive 
not  of  jarring,  but  of  harmony. 

A  romantic  and  untutored  disposition  like  mine  may 
be  supposed  liable  to  strong  impressions  from  perpetual 
converse  with  persons  of  their  age  and  sex.  The  elder 
was  soon  discovered  to  have  already  disposed  of  her 
affections.  The  younger  was  free,  and  somewhat  that  is 
more  easily  conceived  than  named  stole  insensibly  upon 
my  heart.  The  images  that  haunted -me  at  home  and 
abroad,  in  her  absence  and  her  presence,  gradually 
coalesced  into  one  shape,  and  gave  birth  to  an  incessant 
train  of  latent  palpitations  and  indefinable  hopes.  My 
days  were  little  else  than  uninterrupted  reveries,  and 
night  only  called  up  phantoms  more  vivid  and  equally 
enchanting. 

The  memorable  incidents  which  had  lately  happened 
scarcely  counterpoised  my  new  sensations  or  diverted  my 
contemplations  from  the  present.  My  views  were  gradually 
led  to  rest  upon  futurity,  and  in  that  I  quickly  found 
cause  of  circumspection  and  dread.  My  present  labours 
were  light,  and  were  sufficient  for  my  subsistence  in  a 
single  state ;  but  wedlock  was  the  parent  of  new  wants 
and  of  new  cares.  Mr.  Hadwin's  possessions  were  ade 
quate  to  his  own  frugal  maintenance,  but,  divided  between 
hia  children,  would  be  too  scanty  for  either.  Besides, 
this  division  could  only  take  place  at  his  death,  and  that 
was  an  event  whose  speedy  occurrence  was  neither  de 
sirable  nor  probable. 

Another  obstacle  was  now  remembered.  Hadwin  was 
the  conscientious  member  of  a  sect  which  forbade  the 
marriage  of  its  votaries  with  those  of  a  different  com 
munion.  I  had  been  trained  in  an  opposite  creed,  and 
imagined  it  impossible  that  I  should  ever  become  a  pro 
selyte  to  Quakerism.  It  only  remained  for  me  to  feign 
conversion,  or  to  root  out  the  opinions  of  my  friend  and 
win  her  consent  to  a  secret  marriage.  Whether  hypo 
crisy  was  eligible  was  no  subject  of  deliberation.  If  the 


126  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

possession  of  all  that  ambition  can  conceive  were  added 
to  the  transports  of  union  with  Eliza  Hadwin,  and  offered 
as  the  price  of  dissimulation,  it  would  have  been  instantly 
rejected.  My  external  goods  were  not  abundant  nor  nu 
merous,  but  the  consciousness  of  rectitude  was  mine ;  and, 
in  competition  with  this,  the  luxury  of  the  heart  and  of 
the  senses,  the  gratifications  of  boundless  ambition  and 
inexhaustible  wealth,  were  contemptible  and  frivolous. 

The  conquest  of  Eliza's  errors  was  easy;  but  to  intro 
duce  discord  and  sorrow  into  this  family  was  an  act  of  the 
utmost  ingratitude  and  profligacy.  It  was  only  requisite 
for  my  understanding  clearly  to  discern,  to  be  convinced 
of  the  insuperability  of  this  obstacle.  It  was  manifest, 
therefore,  that  the  point  to  which  my  wishes  tended  was 
placed  beyond  my  reach. 

To  foster  my  passion  was  to  foster  a  disease  destruc 
tive  either  of  my  integrity  or  my  existence.  It  was  in 
dispensable  to  fix  my  thoughts  upon  a  different  object, 
and  to  debar  myself  even  from  her  intercourse.  To 
ponder  on  themes  foreign  to  my  darling  image,  and  to 
seclude  myself  from  her  society,  at  hours  which  had 
usually  been  spent  with  her,  were  difficult  tasks.  The 
latter  was  the  least  practicable.  I  had  to  contend  with 
eyes  which  alternately  wondered  at  and  upbraided  me 
for  my  unkindness.  She  was  wholly  unaware  of  the 
nature  of  her  own  feelings,  and  this  ignorance  made  her 
less  scrupulous  in  the  expression  of  her  sentiments. 

Hitherto  I  had  needed  not  employment  beyond  my 
self  and  my  companions.  Now  my  new  motives  made 
me  eager  to  discover  some  means  of  controlling  and  be 
guiling  my  thoughts.  In  this  state,  the  manuscript  of 
Lodi  occurred  to  me.  In  my  way  hither,  I  had  resolved 
to  make  the  study  of  the  language  of  this  book,  and  the 
translation  of  its  contents  into  English,  the  business  and 
solace  of  my  leisure.  Now  this  resolution  was  revived 
with  new  force. 

My  project  was  perhaps  singular.  The  ancient  lan 
guage  of  Italy  possessed  a  strong  affinity  with  the  mo 
dern.  My  knowledge  of  the  former  was  my  only  means 
of  gaining  the  latter.  I  had  no  grammar  or  vocabulary 
to  explain  how  far  the  meanings  and  inflections  of  Tus- 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  12? 

can  words  varied  from  the  Roman  dialect.  I  was  to 
ponder  on  each  sentence  and  phrase ;  to  select  among 
different  conjectures  the  most  plausible,  and  to  ascertain 
the  true  by  patient  and  repeated  scrutiny. 

This  undertaking,  fantastic  and  impracticable  as  it 
may  seem,  proved,  upon  experiment,  to  be  within  the 
compass  of  my  powers.  The  detail  of  my  progress 
would  be  curious  and  instructive.  What  impediments, 
in  the  attainment  of  a  darling  purpose,  human  ingenuity 
and  patience  are  able  to  surmount ;  how  much  may  be 
done  by  strenuous  and  solitary  efforts ;  how  the  mind, 
unassisted,  may  draw  forth  the  principles  of  inflection 
and  arrangement ;  may  profit  by  remote,  analogous,  and 
latent  similitudes,  would  be  forcibly  illustrated  by  my 
example ;  but  the  theme,  however  attractive,  must,  for 
the  present,  be  omitted. 

My  progress  was  slow;  but  the  perception  of  hourly 
improvement  afforded  me  unspeakable  pleasure.  Having 
arrived  near  the  last  pages,  I  was  able  to  pursue,  with 
little  interruption,  the  thread  of  an  eloquent  narration. 
The  triumph  of  a  leader  of  outlaws  over  the  popular 
enthusiasm  of  the  Milanese  and  the  claims  of  neighbour 
ing  potentates  was  about  to  be  depicted.  The  Condot- 
tiero  Sforza  had  taken  refuge  from  his  enemies  in  a 
tomb,  accidentally  discovered  amidst  the  ruins  of  a  Ro 
man  fortress  in  the  Apennines.  lie  had  sought  this 
recess  for  the  sake  of  concealment,  but  found  in  it  a 
treasure  by  which  he  would  be  enabled  to  secure  the 
wavering  and  venal  faith  of  that  crew  of  ruffians  that 
followed  his  standard,  provided  he  fell  not  into  the  hands 
of  the  enemies  who  were  now  in  search  of  him. 

My  tumultuous  curiosity  was  suddenly  checked  by  the 
following  leaves  being  glued  together  at  the  edges.  To  dis 
sever  them  without  injury  to  the  written  spaces  was  by  no 
means  easy.  I  proceeded  to  the  task,  not  without  precipi 
tation.  The  edges  were  torn  away,  and  the  leaves  parted. 

It  may  be  thought  that  I  took  up  the  thread  where  it 
had  been  broken  ;  but  no.  The  object  that  my  eyes  en 
countered,  and  which  the  cemented  leaves  had  so  long 
concealed,  was  beyond  the  power  of  the  most  capricious 
or  lawless  fancy  to  have  prefigured ;  yet  it  bore  a  sha- 


128  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

dowy  resemblance  to  the  images  with  which  my  imagina 
tion  was  previously  occupied.  I  opened,  and  beheld — a 
bank-note! 

To  the  first  transports  of  surprise,  the  conjecture  suc 
ceeded,  that  the  remaining  leaves,  cemented  together  in 
the  same  manner,  might  enclose  similar  bills.  They  were 
hastily  separated,  and  the  conjecture  was  verified.  My 
sensations  at  this  discovery  were  of  an  inexplicable  kind. 
I  gazed  at  the  notes  in  silence.  I  moved  my  finger  over 
them  ;  held  them  in  different  positions ;  read  and  reread 
the  name  of  each  sum,  and  the  signature ;  added  them 
together,  and  repeated  to  myself — '•'•Twenty  thousand 
dollars!  They  are  mine,  and  by  such  means!" 

This  sum  would  have  redeemed  the  fallen  fortunes  of 
Welbeck.  The  dying  Lodi  was  unable  to  communicate 
all  the  contents  of  this  inestimable  volume.  lie  had 
divided  his  treasure,  with  a  view  to  its  greater  safety, 
between  this  volume  and  his  pocket-book.  Death  hasted 
upon  him  too  suddenly  to  allow  him  to  explain  his  pre 
cautions.  Welbeck  had  placed  the  book  in  his  collec 
tion,  purposing  some  time  to  peruse  it ;  but,  deterred  by 
anxieties  which  the  perusal  would  have  dissipated,  he 
rushed  to  desperation  and  suicide,  from  which  some 
evanescent  contingency,  by  unfolding  this  treasure  to 
his  view,  would  have  effectually  rescued  him. 

But  was  this  event  to  be  regretted  ?  This  sum,  like 
the  former,  would  probably  have  been  expended  in  the 
same  pernicious  prodigality.  His  career  would  have 
continued  some  time  longer ;  but  his  inveterate  habits 
would  have  finally  conducted  his  existence  to  the  same 
criminal  and  ignominious  close. 

But  the  destiny  of  Welbeck  was  accomplished.  The 
money  was  placed,  without  guilt  or  artifice,  in  my  pos 
session.  My  fortune  had  been  thus  unexpectedly  and 
wondrously  propitious.  How  was  1  to  profit  by  her 
favour?  Would  not  this  sum  enable  me  to  gather  round 
me  all  the  instruments  of  pleasure?  Equipage,  and 
palace,  and  a  multitude  of  servants ;  polished  mirrors, 
splendid  hangings,  banquets,  and  flatterers,  were  equally 
abhorrent  to  my  taste  and  my  principles.  The  accu 
mulation  of  knowledge,  and  the  diffusion  of  happiness, 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  12$ 

in  which  riches  may  be  rendered  eminently  instrumental, 
were  the  only  precepts  of  duty,  and  the  only  avenues  to 
genuine  felicity. 

"But  what,"  said  I,  "is  my  title  to  this  money?  By 
retaining  it,  shall  I  not  be  as  culpable  as  Welbeck  ?  It 
came  into  his  possession,  as  it  came  into  mine,  without 
a  crime ;  but  my  knowledge  of  the  true  proprietor  is 
equally  certain,  and  the  claims  of  the  unfortunate 
stranger  are  as  valid  as  ever.  Indeed,  if  utility,  and 
not  law,  be  the  measure  of  justice,  her  claim,  desolate 
and  indigent  as  she  is,  unfitted,  by  her  past  life,  by  the 
softness  and  the  prejudices  of  her  education,  for  con 
tending  with  calamity,  is  incontestable. 

"As  to  me,  health  and  diligence  will  give  me,  not  only 
the  competence  which  I  seek,  but  the  power  of  enjoying 
it.  If  my  present  condition  be  unchangeable,  I  shall 
not  be  unhappy.  My  occupations  are  salutary  and  me 
ritorious  ;  I  am  a  stranger  to  the  cares  as  well  as  to  the 
enjoyment  of  riches ;  abundant  means  of  knowledge  are 
possessed  by  me,  as  long  as  I  have  eyes  to  gaze  at  man 
and  at  nature,  as  they  are  exhibited  in  their  original 
forms  or  in  books.  The  precepts  of  my  duty  cannot  be 
mistaken.  The  lady  must  be  sought  and  the  money 
restored  to  her." 

Certain  obstacles  existed  to  the  immediate  execution 
of  this  scheme.  How  should  I  conduct  my  search? 
What  apology  should  I  make  for  withdrawing  thus 
abruptly,  and  contrary  to  the  terms  of  an  agreement 
into  which  I  had  lately  entered,  from  the  family  and 
service  of  my  friend  and  benefactor  Hadwin  ? 

My  thoughts  were  called  away  from  pursuing  these 
inquiries  by  a  rumour,  which  had  gradually  swelled  to 
formidable  dimensions ;  and  which,  at  length,  reached 
us  in  our  quiet  retreats.  The  city,  we  were  told,  was 
involved  in  confusion  and  panic,  for  a  pestilential  disease 
had  begun  its  destructive  progress.  Magistrates  and 
citizens  were  flying  to  the  country.  The  numbers  of 
the  sick  multiplied  beyond  all  example;  even  in  the  pest- 
affected  cities  of  the  Levant.  The  malady  was  malignant 
and  unsparing. 

The  usual  occupations  and  amusements  of  life  were  at 
9 


130  ARTHUR  MERVYN. 

an  end.  Terror  had  exterminated  all  the  sentiments  of 
nature.  Wives  were  deserted  by  husbands,  and  children 
by  parents.  Some  had  shut  themselves  in  their  houses, 
and  debarred  themselves  from  all  communication  with 
the  rest  of  mankind.  The  consternation  of  others  had 
destroyed  their  understanding,  and  their  misguided  steps 
hurrie4  them  into  the  midst  of  the  danger  which  they 
had  previously  laboured  to  shun.  Men  were  seized  by 
this  disease  in  the  streets ;  passengers  fled  from  them  ; 
entrance  into  their  own  dwellings  was  denied  to  them ; 
they  perished  in  the  public  ways. 

The  chambers  of  disease  were  deserted,  and  the  sick 
left  to  die  of  negligence.  None  could  be  found  to  re 
move  the  lifeless  bodies.  Their  remains,  suffered  to 
decay  by  piecemeal,  filled  the  air  with  deadly  exhala 
tions,  and  added  tenfold  to  the  devastation. 

Such  was  the  tale,  distorted  and  diversified  a  thousand 
ways  by  the  credulity  and  exaggeration  of  the  tellers. 
At  first  I  listened  to  the  story  with  indifference  or  mirth. 
Methought  it  was  confuted  by  its  own  extravagance. 
The  enormity  and  variety  of  such  an  evil  made  it  un 
worthy  to  be  believed.  I  expected  that  every  new  day 
would  detect  the  absurdity  and  fallacy  of  such  repre 
sentations.  Every  new  day,  however,  added  to  the 
number  of  witnesses  and  the  consistency  of  the  tale,  till, 
at  length,  it  was  not  possible  to  withhold  my  faith. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

Tins  rumour  was  of  a  nature  to  absorb  and  suspend 
the  whole  soul.  A  certain  sublimity  is  connected  with 
enormous  dangers  that  imparts  to  our  consternation  or 
our  pity  a  tincture  of  the  pleasing.  This,  at  least,  may 
be  experienced  by  those  who  are  beyond  the  verge  of 
peril.  My  own  person  was  exposed  to  no  hazard.  I 
had  leisure  to  conjure  up  terrific  images,  and  to  per 
sonate  the  witnesses  and  sufferers  of  this  calamity.  This 
employment  was  not  enjoined  upon  me  by  necessity,  but 
was  ardently  pursued,  and  must  therefore  have  been  re 
commended  by  some  nameless  charm. 

Others  were  very  differently  affected.  As  often  as  the 
tale  was  embellished  with  new  incidents  or  enforced  by 
new  testimony,  the  hearer  grew  pale,  his  breath  was 
stifled  by  inquietudes,  his  blood  was  chilled,  and  his 
stomach  was  bereaved  of  its  usual  energies.  A  tempo 
rary  indisposition  was  produced  in  many.  Some  were 
haunted  by  a  melancholy  bordering  upon  madness,  and 
some,  in  consequence  of  sleepless  panics,  for  which  no 
cause  could  be  assigned,  and  for  which  no  opiates 
could  be  found,  were  attacked  by  lingering  or  mortal 
diseases. 

Mr.  Hadwin  was  superior  to  groundless  apprehensions. 
His  daughters,  however,  partook  in  all  the  consternation 
which  surrounded  them.  The  eldest  had,  indeed,  abun 
dant  reason  for  her  terror.  The  youth  to  whom  she 
was  betrothed  resided  in  the  city.  A  year  previous  to 
this,  he  had  left  the  house  of  Mr.  Hadwin,  who  was  his 
uncle,  and  had  removed  to  Philadelphia  in  pursuit  of 
fortune. 

He  made  himself  clerk  to  a  merchant,  and,  by  some 

131 


132  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

mercantile  adventures  in  which  he  had  successfully  en 
gaged,  began  to  flatter  himself  with  being  able,  in  no 
long  time,  to  support  a  family.  Meanwhile,  a  tender 
and  constant  correspondence  was  maintained  between 
him  and  his  beloved  Susan.  This  girl  was  a  soft  enthu 
siast,  in  whose  bosom  devotion  and  love  glowed  with  an 
ardour  that  has  seldom  been  exceeded. 

The  first  tidings  of  the  yellow  fever  was  heard  by  her 
with  unspeakable  perturbation.  Wallace  was  interro 
gated,  by  letter,  respecting  its  truth.  For  a  time,  he 
treated  it  as  a  vague  report.  At  length,  a  confession 
was  extorted  from  him  that  there  existed  a  pestilential 
disease  in  the  city;  but  he  added  that  it  was  hitherto 
confined  to  one  quarter,  distant  from  the  place  of  his 
abode. 

The  most  pathetic  entreaties  were  urged  by  her  that 
he  would  withdraw  into  the  country.  He  declared  his 
resolution  to  comply  when  the  street  in  which  he  lived 
should  become  infected  and  his  stay  should  be  attended 
with  real  danger.  He  stated  how  much  his  interests 
depended  upon  the  favour  of  his  present  employer,  who 
had  used  the  most  powerful  arguments  to  detain  him, 
but  declared  that,  when  his  situation  should  become,  in 
the  least  degree,  perilous,  he  would  slight  every  con 
sideration  of  gratitude  and  interest,  and  fly  to  Malver- 
ton.  Meanwhile,  he  promised  to  communicate  tidings 
of  his  safety  by  every  opportunity. 

Belding,  Mr.  Hadwin's  next  neighbour,  though  not 
uninfected  by  the  general  panic,  persisted  to  visit  the 
city  daily  with  his  market-cart.  He  set  out  by  sunrise, 
and  usually  returned  by  noon.  By  him  a  letter  was 
punctually  received  by  Susan.  As  the  hour  of  Belding's 
return  approached,  her  impatience  and  anxiety  increased. 
The  daily  epistle  was  received  and  read,  in  a  transport 
of  eagerness.  For  a  while  her  emotion  subsided,  but 
returned  with  augmented  vehemence  at  noon  on  the 
ensuing  day. 

These  agitations  were  too  vehement  for  a  feeble  con 
stitution  like  hers.  She  renewed  her  supplications  to 
Wallace  to  quit  the  city.  He  repeated  his  assertions 
of  being,  hitherto,  secure,  and  his  promise  of  coming 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  133 

when  the  danger  should  be  imminent.  When  Bclding 
returned,  and,  instead  of  being  accompanied  by  Wallace, 
merely  brought  a  letter  from  him,  the  unhappy  Susan 
would  sink  into  fits  of  lamentation  and  weeping,  and 
repel  every  effort  to  console  her  with  an  obstinacy  that 
partook  of  madness.  It  was,  at  length,  manifest  that 
Wallace's  delays  Avould  be  fatally  injurious  to  the  health 
of  his  mistress. 

Mr.  Had  win  had  hitherto  been  passive.  He  con 
ceived  that  the  entreaties  and  remonstrances  of  his 
daughter  were  more  likely  to  influence  the  conduct  of 
Wallace  than  any  representations  which  he  could  make. 
Now,  however,  he  wrote  the  contumacious  Wallace  a 
letter,  in  which  he  laid  his  commands  upon  him  to  return 
in  company  with  Belding,  and  declared  that  by  a  longer 
delay  the  youth  would  forfeit  his  favour. 

The  malady  had,  at  this  time,  made  considerable  pro 
gress.  Belding's  interest  at  length  yielded  to  his  fears, 
and  this  was  the  last  journey  which  he  proposed  to  make. 
Hence  our  impatience  for  the  return  of  Wallace  was 
augmented  ;  since,  if  this  opportunity  were  lost,  no  suit 
able  conveyance  might  again  be  offered  him. 

Belding  set  out,  as  usual,  at  the  dawn  of  day.  The 
customary  interval  between  his  departure  and  return 
was  spent  by  Susan  in  a  tumult  of  hopes  and  fears.  As 
noon  approached,  her  suspense  arose  to  a  pitch  of  wild- 
ness  and  agony.  She  could  scarcely  be  restrained  from 
running  along  the  road,  many  miles,  towards  the  city ; 
that  she  might,  by  meeting  Belding  half-way,  the  sooner 
ascertain  the  fate  of  her  lover.  She  stationed  herself  at 
a  window  which  overlooked  the  road  along  which  Belding 
was  to  pass. 

Her  sister  and  her  father,  though  less  impatient, 
marked,  with  painful  eagerness,  the  first  sound  of  the 
approaching  vehicle.  They  snatched  a  look  at  it  as 
soon  as  it  appeared  in  sight.  Belding  was  without  a 
companion. 

This  confirmation  of  her  fears  overwhelmed  the  un 
happy  Susan.  She  sunk  into  a  fit,  from  which,  for  a 
long  time,  her  recovery  was  hopeless.  This  was  suc 
ceeded  by  paroxysms  of  a  furious  insanity,  in  which  she 


134  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

attempted  to  snatch  any  pointed  implement  which  lay 
within  her  reach,  with  a  view  to  destroy  herself.  These 
being  carefully  removed,  or  forcibly  wrested  from  her, 
she  resigned  herself  to  sobs  and  exclamations. 

Having  interrogated  Belding,  he  informed  us  that  he 
occupied  his  usual  post  in  the  market-place ;  that  here 
tofore  Wallace  had  duly  sought  him  out,  and  exchanged 
letters ;  but  that,  on  this  morning,  the  young  man  had 
not  made  his  appearance,  though  Belding  had  been  in 
duced,  by  his  wish  to  see  him,  to  prolong  his  stay  in  the 
city  much  beyond  the  usual  period. 

That  some  other  cause  than  sickness  had  occasioned 
this  omission  was  barely  possible.  There  was  scarcely 
room  for  the  most  sanguine  temper  to  indulge  a  hope. 
Wallace  was  without  kindred,  and  probably  without 
friends,  in  the  city.  The  merchant  in  whose  service  lie 
had  placed  himself  was  connected  with  him  by  no  con 
siderations  but  that  of  interest.  What  then  must  be  his 
situation  when  seized  with  a  malady  which  all  believed 
to  be  contagious,  and  the  fear  of  which  was  able  to  dis 
solve  the  strongest  ties  that  bind  human  beings  together  ? 

I  was  personally  a  stranger  to  this  youth.  I  had  seen 
his  letters,  and  they  bespoke,  not  indeed  any  great  re 
finement  or  elevation  of  intelligence,  but  a  frank  and 
generous  spirit,  to  which  I  could  not  refuse  my  esteem  ; 
but  his  chief  claim  to  my  affection  consisted  in  his  con 
sanguinity  to  Mr.  Hadwin,  and  his  place  in  the  affec 
tions  of  Susan.  His  welfare  was  essential  to  the  happi 
ness  of  those  whose  happiness  had  become  essential  to 
mine.  I  witnessed  the  outrages  of  despair  in  the  daugh 
ter,  and  the  symptoms  of  a  deep  but  less  violent  grief 
in  the  sister  and  parent.  Was  it  not  possible  for  me  to 
alleviate  their  pangs  ?  Could  not  the  fate  of  Wallace 
be  ascertained  ? 

This  disease  assailed  men  with  different  degrees  of  ma 
lignity.  In  its  worst  form  perhaps  it  was  incurable  ;  but, 
in  some  of  its  modes,  it  was  doubtless  conquerable  by  the 
skill  of  physicians  and  the  fidelity  of  nurses.  In  its  least 
formidable  symptoms,  negligence  and  solitude  would  ren 
der  it  fatal. 

Wallace  might,  perhaps,  experience  this  pest  in  its 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  135 

most  lenient  degree ;  but  the  desertion  of  all  mankind, 
the  want  not  only  of  medicines  but  of  food,  would  irre 
vocably  seal  his  doom.  My  imagination  was  incessantly 
pursued  by  the  image  of  this  youth,  perishing  alone,  and 
in  obscurity;  calling  on  the  name  of  distant  friends,  or 
invoking,  ineffectually,  the  succour  of  those  who  were 
near. 

Hitherto  distress  had  been  contemplated  at  a  distance, 
and  through  the  medium  of  a  fancy  delighting  to  be 
startled  by  the  wonderful,  or  transported  by  sublimity. 
Now  the  calamity  had  entered  my  own  doors,  imaginary 
evils  were  supplanted  by  real,  and  my  heart  was  the  seat 
of  commiseration  and  horror. 

I  found  myself  unfit  for  recreation  or  employment.  I 
shrouded  myself  in  the  gloom  of  the  neighbouring  forest, 
or  lost  myself  in  the  maze  of  rocks  and  dells.  I  en 
deavoured,  in  vain,  to  shut  out  the  phantoms  of  the  dying 
Wallace,  and  to  forget  the  spectacle  of  domestic  woes. 
At  length  it  occurred  to  me  to  ask,  May  not  this  evil  be 
obviated,  and  the  felicity  of  the  Hadwins  re-established? 
Wallace  is  friendless  and  succourless ;  but  cannot  I  sup 
ply  to  him  the  place  of  protector  and  nurse  ?  Why  not 
hasten  to  the  city,  search  out  his  abode,  and  ascertain 
whether  he  be  living  or  dead  ?  If  he  still  retain  life, 
may  I  not,  by  consolation  and  attendance,  contribute  to 
the  restoration  of  his  health,  and  conduct  him  once  more 
to  the  bosom  of  his  family  ? 

With  what  transports  will  his  arrival  be  hailed !  How 
amply  will  their  impatience  and  their  sorrow  be  compen 
sated  by  his  return !  In  the  spectacle  of  their  joys,  how 
rapturous  and  pure  will  be  my  delight !  Do  the  benefits 
which  I  have  received  from  the  Hadwins  demand  a  less 
retribution  than  this  ? 

It  is  true  that  my  own  life  will  be  endangered ;  but 
my  danger  will  be  proportioned  to  the  duration  of  my 
stav  in  this  seat  of  infection.  The  death  or  the  flight 

d 

of  Wallace  may  absolve  me  from  the  necessity  of  spend 
ing  one  night  in  the  city.  The  rustics  who  daily  fre 
quent  the  market  are,  as  experience  proves,  exempt  from 
this  disease ;  in  consequence,  perhaps,  of  limiting  their 
continuance  in  the  city  to  a  few  hours.  May  I  not,  in 


136  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

this  respect,  conform  to  their  example,  and  enjoy  a  simi 
lar  exemption  ? 

My  stay,  however,  may  be  longer  than  the  day.  I 
m;iy  be  condemned  to  share  in  the  common  destiny. 
What  then  ?  Life  is  dependent  on  a  thousand  contin 
gencies,  not  to  be  computed  or  foreseen.  The  seeds  of 
an  early  and  lingering  death  are  sown  in  my  constitu 
tion.  It  is  in  vain  to  hope  to  escape  the  malady  by  which 
my  mother  and  my  brothers  have  died.  We  are  a  race 
whose  existence  some  inherent  property  has  limited  to 
the  short  space  of  twenty  years.  We  are  exposed,  in 
common  with  the  rest  of  mankind,  to  innumerable  casu 
alties  ;  but,  if  these  be  shunned,  we  are  unalterably  fated 
to  perish  by  consumption.  Why  then  should  1  scruple 
to  lay  down  my  life  in  the  cause  of  virtue  and  humanity? 
It  is  better  to  die  in  the  consciousness  of  having  offered 
an  heroic  sacrifice,  to  die  by  a  speedy  stroke,  than  by 
the  perverseness  of  nature,  in  ignominious  inactivity  and 
lingering  agonies. 

These  considerations  determined  me  to  hasten  to  the 
city.  To  mention  my  purpose  to  the  Hadwins  would  be 
useless  or  pernicious.  It  would  only  augment  the  sum  of 
their  present  anxieties.  I  should  meet  with  a  thousand 
obstacles  in  the  tenderness  and  terror  of  Eliza,  and  in 
the  prudent  affection  of  her  father.  Their  arguments  I 
should  be  condemned  to  hear,  but  should  not  be  able  to 
confute ;  and  should  only  load  myself  with  imputations 
of  perverseness  and  temerity. 

But  how  else  should  I  explain  my  absence  ?  I  had 
hitherto  preserved  my  lips  untainted  by  prevarication  or 
falsehood.  Perhaps  there  was  no  occasion  which  would 
justify  an  untruth  ;  but  here,  at  least,  it  was  superfluous- 
or  hurtful.  My  disappearance,  if  effected  without  notice 
or  warning,  will  give  birth  to  speculation  and  conjecture; 
but  my  true  motives  will  never  be  suspected,  and  there 
fore  will  excite  no  fears.  My  conduct  will  not  be  charged 
with  guilt.  It  will  merely  be  thought  upon  with  some 
regret,  which  will  be  alleviated  by  the  opinion  of  my 
safety,  and  the  daily  expectation  of  my  return. 

But,  since  my  purpose  was  to  search  out  Wallace,  I 
must  be  previously  furnished  with  directions  to  the  place 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR   1793.  137 

of  his  abode,  and  a  description  of  his  person.  Satisfac 
tion  on  this  head  was  easily  obtained  from  Mr.  Had  win ; 
who  was  prevented  from  suspecting  the  motives  of  my 
curiosity,  by  my  questions  being  put  in  a  manner  appa 
rently  casual.  He  mentioned  the  street,  and  the  number 
of  the  house. 

I  listened  with  surprise.  It  was  a  house  with  which  I 
was  already  familiar.  He  resided,  it  seems,  with  a  mer 
chant.  \Vas  it  possible  for  me  to  be  mistaken? 

What,  I  asked,  was  the  merchant's  name  ? 

Thetford. 

This  was  a  confirmation  of  my  first  conjecture.  I 
recollected  the  extraordinary  means  by  which  I  had 
gained  access  to  the  house  and  bedchamber  of  this  gen 
tleman.  I  recalled  the  person  and  appearance  of  the 
youth  by  whose  artifices  I  had  been  entangled  in  the 
snare.  These  artifices  implied  some  domestic  or  con 
fidential  connection  between  Thetford  and  my  guide. 
Wallace  was  a  member  of  the  family.  Could  it  be  he 
by  whom  I  was  betrayed  ? 

Suitable  questions  easily  obtained  from  Had  win  a  de 
scription  of  the  person  and  carriage  of  his  nephew.  Every 
circumstance  evinced  the  identity  of  their  persons.  Wal 
lace,  then,  was  the  engaging  and  sprightly  youth  whom 
I  had  encountered  at  Lesher's ;  and  who,  for  purposes 
not  hitherto  discoverable,  had  led  me  into  a  situation  so 
romantic  and  perilous. 

I  was  far  from  suspecting  that  these  purposes  were  cri 
minal.  It  was  easy  to  infer  that  his  conduct  proceeded 
from  juvenile  wantonness  and  a  love  of  sport.  My  re 
solution  was  unaltered  by  this  disclosure ;  and,  having 
obtained  all  the  information  which  I  needed,  I  secretly 
began  my  journey. 

My  reflections,  on  the  way,  were  sufficiently  employed 
in  tracing  the  consequences  of  my  project ;  in  computing 
the  inconveniences  and  dangers  to  which  I  was  preparing 
to  subject  myself;  in  fortifying  my  courage  against  the 
influence  of  rueful  sights  and  abrupt  transitions ;  and  in 
imagining  the  measures  which  it  would  be  proper  to  pur 
sue  in  every  emergency. 

Connected  as  these  views  were  with  the  family  and 


138  ARTHUR  MERl'YN. 

character  of  Thetford,  I  could  not  but  sometimes  advert 
to  those  incidents  which  formerly  happened.  The  mer 
cantile  alliance  between  him  and  Welbeck  was  remem 
bered  ;  the  allusions  which  were  made  to  the  condition 
of  the  latter  in  the  chamber-conversation  of  which  I  was 
an  unsuspected  auditor ;  and  the  relation  which  these 
allusions  might  possess  with  subsequent  occurrences. 
Welbeck's  property  was  forfeited.  It  had  been  confided 
to  the  care  of  Thetford's  brother.  Had  the  cause  of  this 
forfeiture  been  truly  or  thoroughly  explained  ?  Might 
not  contraband  articles  have  been  admitted  through  the 
management  or  under  the  connivance  of  the  brothers  ? 
and  might  not  the  younger  Thetford  be  furnished  with 
the  means  of  purchasing  the  captured  vessel  and  her 
cargo, — which,  as  usual,  would  be  sold  by  auction  at  a 
fifth  or  tenth  of  its  real  value  ? 

Welbeck  was  not  alive  to  profit  by  the  detection  of 
this  artifice,  admitting  these  conclusions  to  be  just.  My 
knowledge  will  be  useless  to  the  world ;  for  by  what 
motives  can  I  be  influenced  to  publish  the  truth  ?  or  by 
whom  will  my  single  testimony  be  believed,  in  opposition 
to  that  plausible  exterior,  and,  perhaps,  to  that  general 
integrity,  which  Thetford  has  maintained  ?  To  myself 
it  will  not  be  unprofitable.  It  is  a  lesson  on  the  princi 
ples  of  human  nature ;  on  the  delusiveness  of  appear 
ances  ;  on  the  perviousness  of  fraud ;  and  on  the  power 
with  which  nature  has  invested  human  beings  over  the 
thoughts  and  actions  of  each  other. 

Thetford  and  his  frauds  were  dismissed  from  my 
thoughts,  to  give  place  to  considerations  relative  to  Cle- 
menza  Lodi,  and  the  money  which  chance  had  thrown 
into  my  possession.  Time  had  only  confirmed  my  pur 
pose  to  restore  these  bills  to  the  rightful  proprietor,  and 
heightened  my  impatience  to  discover  her  retreat.  I  re 
flected,  that  the  means  of  doing  this  were  more  likely  to 
suggest  themselves  at  the  place  to  which  I  was  going 
than  elsewhere.  I  might,  indeed,  perish  before  my  views, 
in  this  respect,  could  be  accomplished.  Against  these 
evils  I  had  at  present  no  power  to  provide.  While  I 
lived,  I  would  bear  perpetually  about  me  the  volume  and 
its  precious  contents.  If  I  died,  a  superior  power  must 
direct  the  course  of  this  as  of  all  other  events. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

THESE  meditations  did  not  enfeeble  my  resolution,  or 
slacken  my  pace.  In  proportion  as  I  drew  near  the  city, 
the  tokens  of  its  calamitous  condition  became  more  appa 
rent.  Every  farm-house  was  filled  with  supernumerary 
tenants,  fugitives  from  home,  and  haunting  the  skirts  of 
the  road,  eager  to  detain  every  passenger  with  inquiries 
after  news.  The  passengers  were  numerous;  for  the 
tide  of  emigration  was  by  no  means  exhausted.  Some 
were  on  foot,  bearing  in  their  countenances  the  tokens 
of  their  recent  terror,  and  filled  with  mournful  reflections 
on  the  forlornness  of  their  state.  Few  had  secured  to 
themselves  an  asylum ;  some  were  without  the  means  of 
paying  for  victuals  or  lodging  for  the  coming  night; 
others,  who  were  not  thus  destitute,  yet  knew  not  whither 
to  apply  for  entertainment,  every  house  being  already 
overstocked  with  inhabitants,  or  barring  its  inhospitable 
doors  at  their  approach. 

Families  of  weeping  mothers  and  dismayed  children, 
attended  with  a  few  pieces  of  indispensable  furniture, 
were  carried  in  vehicles  of  every  form.  The  parent  or 
husband  had  perished ;  and  the  price  of  some  movable, 
or  the  pittance  handed  forth  by  public  charity,  had  been 
expended  to  purchase  the  means  of  retiring  from  this 
theatre  of  disasters,  though  uncertain  and  hopeless  of 
accommodation  in  the  neighbouring  districts. 

Between  these  and  the  fugitives  whom  curiosity  had 
led  to  the  road,  dialogues  frequently  took  place,  to  which 
I  was  suffered  to  listen.  From  every  mouth  the  tale  of 
sorrow  was  repeated  with  new  aggravations.  Pictures 
of  their  own  distress,  or  of  that  of  their  neighbours, 
•were  exhibited  in  all  the  hues  which  imagination  can 
annex  to  pestilence  and  poverty. 

139 


140  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

My  preconceptions  of  the  evil  now  appeared  to  have 
fallen  short  of  the  truth.  The  dangers  into  which  I  was 
rushing  seemed  more  numerous  and  imminent  than  I  had 
previously  imagined.  I  wavered  not  in  my  purpose.  A 
panic  crept  to  my  heart,  which  more  vehement  exertions 
were  necessary  to  subdue  or  control ;  but  I  harboured  not 
a  momentary  doubt  that  the  course  which  I  had  taken 
was  prescribed  by  duty.  There  was  no  difficulty  or  re 
luctance  in  proceeding.  All  for  which  my  efforts  were 
demanded  was  to  walk  in  this  path  without  tumult  or 
alarm. 

Various  circumstances  had  hindered  me  from  setting 
out  upon  this  journey  as  early  as  was  proper.  My  fre 
quent  pauses  to  listen  to  the  narratives  of  travellers  con 
tributed  likewise  to  procrastination.  The  sun  had  nearly 
set  before  I  reached  the  precincts  of  the  city.  I  pursued 
the  track  which  I  had  formerly  taken,  and  entered  High 
Street  after  nightfall.  Instead  of  equipages  and  a 
throng  of  passengers,  the  voice  of  levity  and  glee,  which 
I  had  formerly  observed,  and  which  the  mildness  of  the 
season  would,  at  other  times,  have  produced,  I  found 
nothing  but  a  dreary  solitude. 

The  market-place,  and  each  side  of  this  magnificent 
avenue,  were  illuminated,  as  before,  by  lamps ;  but  between 
the  verge  of  Schuylkill  and  the  heart  of  the  city  I  met 
not  more  than  a  dozen  figures;  and  these  were  ghost 
like,  wrapped  in  cloaks,  from  behind  which  they  cast 
upon  me  glances  of  wonder  and  suspicion,  and,  as  I 
approached,  changed  their  course,  to  avoid  touching  me. 
Their  clothes  were  sprinkled  with  vinegar,  and  their 
nostrils  defended  from  contagion  by  some  powerful 
perfume. 

I  cast  a  look  upon  the  houses,  which  I  recollected  to 
have  formerly  been,  at  this  hour,  brilliant  with  lights, 
resounding  with  lively  voices,  and  thronged  with  busy 
faces.  Now  they  were  closed,  above  and  below;  dark, 
and  without  tokens  of  being  inhabited.  From  the  upper 
windows  of  some,  a  gleam  sometimes  fell  upon  the  pave 
ment  I  was  traversing,  and  showed  that  their  tenants 
had  not  fled,  but  were  secluded  or  disabled. 

These  tokens  were  new,  and  awakened  all  my  panics. 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  14! 

Death  seemed  to  hover  over  this  scene,  and  I  dreaded 
that  the  floating  pestilence  had  already  lighted  on  my 
frame.  I  had  scarcely  overcome  these  tremors,  when  I 
approached  a  house  the  door  of  which  was  opened,  and 
before  which  stood  a  vehicle,  which  I  presently  recognised 
to  be  a  hearse. 

The  driver  was  seated  on  it.  I  stood  still  to  mark  his 
visage,  and  to  observe  the  course  which  he  proposed  to 
take.  Presently  a  coffin,  borne  by  two  men,  issued  from 
the  house.  The  driver  was  a  negro ;  but  his  companions 
were  white.  Their  features  were  marked  by  ferocious  in 
difference  to  danger  or  pity.  One  of  them,  as  he  assisted 
in  thrusting  the  coffin  into  the  cavity  provided  for  it, 
said,  "I'll  be  damned  if  I  think  the  poor  dog  was  quite 
dead.  It  wasn't  the  fever  that  ailed  him,  but  the  sight 
of  the  girl  and  her  mother  on  the  floor.  I  wonder  how 
they  all  got  into  that  room.  What  carried  them  there?" 

The  other  surlily  muttered,  "Their  legs,  to-be-sure." 

"But  what  should  they  hug  together  in  one  room 
for?" 

"To  save  us  trouble,  to-be-sure." 

"  And  I  thank  them  with  all  my  heart ;  but,  damn  it, 
it  wasn't  right  to  put  him  in  his  coffin  before  the  breath 
was  fairly  gone.  I  thought  the  last  look  he  gave  me 
told  me  to  stay  a  few  minutes." 

"Pshaw!  He  could  not  live.  The  sooner  dead  the 
better  for  him ;  as  well  as  for  us.  Did  you  mark  how 
he  eyed  us  when  we  carried  away  his  wife  and  daughter  ? 
I  never  cried  in  my  life,  since  I  was  knee-high,  but  curse 
me  if  I  ever  felt  in  better  tune  for  the  business  than  just 
then.  Hey!"  continued  he,  looking  up,  and  observing 
me  standing  a  few  paces  distant,  and  listening  to  their 
discourse;  "what's  wanted?  Anybody  dead?" 

I  stayed  not  to  answer  or  parley,  but  hurried  forward. 
My  joints  trembled,  and  cold  drops  stood  on  my  forehead. 
I  was  ashamed  of  my  own  infirmity;  and,  by  vigorous 
efforts  of  my  reason,  regained  some  degree  of  composure. 
The  evening  had  now  advanced,  and  it  behooved  me  to 
procure  accommodation  at  some  of  the  inns. 

These  were  easily  distinguished  by  their  signs,  but 
many  were  without  inhabitants.  At  length  I  lighted 


142  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

upon  one,  the  hall  of  which  was  open  and  the  windows 
lifted.  After  knocking  for  some  time,  a  young  girl 
appeared,  with  many  marks  of  distress.  In  answer  to 
my  question,  she  answered  that  both  her  parents  were 
sick,  and  that  they  could  receive  no  one.  I  inquired,  in 
vain,  for  any  other  tavern  at  which  strangers  might  be 
accommodated.  She  knew  of  none  such,  and  left  me, 
on  some  one's  calling  to  her  from  above,  in  the  midst  of 
my  embarrassment.  After  a  moment's  pause,  I  returned, 
discomfited  and  perplexed,  to  the  street. 

I  proceeded,  in  a  considerable  degree,  at  random.  At 
length  I  reached  a  spacious  building  in  Fourth  Street, 
which  the  sign-post  showed  me  to  be  an  inn.  I  knocked 
loudly  and  often  at  the  door.  At  length  a  female  opened 
the  window  of  the  second  story,  and,  in  a  tone  of  peevish 
ness,  demanded  what  I  wanted.  I  told  her  that  I  wanted 
lodging. 

"  Go  hunt  for  it  somewhere  else,"  said  she;  "you'll  find 
none  here."  I  began  to  expostulate;  but  she  shut  the 
window  with  quickness,  and  left  me  to  my  own  reflections. 

I  began  now  to  feel  some  regret  at  the  journey  I  had 
taken.  Never,  in  the  depth  of  caverns  or  forests,  was  I 
equally  conscious  of  loneliness.  I  was  surrounded  by 
the  habitations  of  men;  but  I  was  destitute  of  associate 
or  friend.  I  had  money,  but  a  horse-shelter,  or  a  morsel 
of  food,  could  not  be  purchased.  I  came  for  the  purpose 
of  relieving  others,  but  stood  in  the  utmost  need  myself. 
Even  in  health  my  condition  was  helpless  and  forlorn; 
but  what  would  become  of  me  should  this  fatal  malady 
be  contracted  ?  To  hope  that  an  asylum  would  be  afforded 
to  a  sick  man,  which  was  denied  to  one  in  health,  was 
unreasonable. 

The  first  impulse  which  flowed  from  these  reflections 
was  to  hasten  back  to  Malverton;  which,  with  sufficient 
diligence,  I  might  hope  to  regain  before  the  morning 
light.  I  could  not,  methought,  return  upon  my  steps 
with  too  much  speed.  I  was  prompted  to  run,  as  if  the 
pest  was  rushing  upon  me  and  could  be  eluded  only  by 
the  most  precipitate  flight. 

This  impulse  was  quickly  counteracted  by  new  ideas. 
I  thought  with  indignation  and  shame  on  the  imbecility 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR   17^3.  143 

of  my  proceeding.  I  called  up  the  images  of  Susan 
Hadwin,  and  of  Wallace.  I  reviewed  the  motives  which 
had  led  me  to  the  undertaking  of  this  journey.  Time 
had,  by  no  means,  diminished  their  force.  I  had,  in 
deed,  nearly  arrived  at  the  accomplishment  of  what  I 
had  intended.  A  few  steps  would  carry  me  to  Thet 
ford's  habitation.  This  might  be  the  critical  moment 
when  succour  was  most  needed  and  would  be  most  effica 
cious. 

I  had  previously  concluded  to  defer  going  thither  till 
the  ensuing  morning;  but  why  should  I  allow  myself  a 
moment's  delay  ?  I  might  at  least  gain  an  external  view 
of  the  house,  and  circumstances  might  arise  which  would 
absolve  me  from  the  obligation  of  remaining  an  hour 
longer  in  the  city.  All  for  which  I  came  might  be  per 
formed;  the  destiny  of  Wallace  be  ascertained;  and  I 
be  once  more  safe  within  the  precincts  of  Maherton 
before  the  return  of  day. 

I  immediately  directed  my  steps  towards  the  habita 
tion  of  Thetford.  Carriages  bearing  the  dead  were  fre 
quently  discovered.  A  few  passengers  likewise  occurred, 
whose  hasty  and  perturbed  steps  denoted  their  partici 
pation  in  the  common  distress.  The  house  of  which  I 
was  in  quest  quickly  appeared.  Light  from  an  upper 
window  indicated  that  it  was  still  inhabited. 

I  paused  a  moment  to  reflect  in  what  manner  it  be 
came  me  to  proceed.  To  ascertain  the  existence  and 
condition  of  Wallace  was  the  purpose  of  my  journey. 
He  had  inhabited  this  house;  and  whether  he  remained 
in  it  was  now  to  be  known.  I  felt  repugnance  to  enter, 
since  my  safety  might,  by  entering,  be  unawares  and 
uselessly  endangered.  Most  of  the  neigbouring  houses 
were  apparently  deserted.  In  some  there  were  various 
tokens  of  people  being  within.  Might  I  not  inquire,  at 
one  of  these,  respecting  the  condition  of  Thetford's 
family?  Yet  why  should  I  disturb  them  by  inquiries  so 
impertinent  at  this  unseasonable  hour?  To  knock  at 
Thetford's  door,  and  put  my  questions  to  him  who  should 
obey  the  signal,  was  the  obvious  method. 

I  knocked  dubiously  and  lightly.  No  one  came.  I 
knocked  again,  and  more  loudly;  I  likewise  drew  the 


144  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

bell.  I  distinctly  heard  its  distant  peals.  If  any  were 
within,  my  signal  could  not  fail  to  be  noticed.  I  paused, 
and  listened,  but  neither  voice  nor  footsteps  could  be 
heard.  The  light,  though  obscured  by  window-curtains, 
which  seemed  to  be  drawn  close,  was  still  perceptible. 

I  ruminated  on  the  causes  that  might  hinder  my  sum 
mons  from  being  obeyed.  I  figured  to  myself  nothing 
but  the  helplessness  of  disease,  or  the  insensibility  of 
death.  These  images  only  urged  me  to  persist  in  endea 
vouring  to  obtain  admission.  Without  weighing  the 
consequences  of  my  act,  I  involuntarily  lifted  the  latch. 
The  door  yielded  to  my  hand,  and  I  put  my  feet  within 
the  passage. 

Once  more  I  paused.  The  passage  was  of  considerable 
extent,  and  at  the  end  of  it  I  perceived  light  as  from  a 
lamp  or  candle.  This  impelled  me  to  go  forward,  till  I 
reached  the  foot  of  a  staircase.  A  candle  stood  upon 
the  lowest  step. 

This  was  a  new  proof  that  the  house  was  not  deserted. 
I  struck  my  heel  against  the  floor  with  some  violence; 
but  this,  like  my  former  signals,  was  unnoticed.  Having 
proceeded  thus  far,  it  would  have  been  absurd  to  retire 
with  my  purpose  uneffected.  Taking  the  candle  in  my 
hand,  I  opened  a  door  that  was  near.  It  led  into  a  spa 
cious  parlour,  furnished  with  profusion  and  splendour.  I 
walked  to  and  fro,  gazing  at  the  objects  which  presented 
themselves ;  and,  involved  in  perplexity,  I  knocked  with 
my  heel  louder  than  ever ;  but  no  less  ineffectually. 

Notwithstanding  the  lights  which  I  had  seen,  it  was 
possible  that  the  house  was  uninhabited.  This  I  was 
resolved  to  ascertain,  by  proceeding  to  the  chamber 
which  I  had  observed,  from  without,  to  be  illuminated. 
This  chamber,  as  far  as  the  comparison  of  circumstances 
would  permit  me  to  decide,  I  believed  to  be  the  same  in 
which  I  had  passed  the  first  night  of  my  late  abode  in 
the  city.  Now  was  I,  a  second  time,  in  almost  equal 
ignorance  of  my  situation,  and  of  the  consequences 
which  impended,  exploring  my  way  to  the  same  recess. 

I  mounted  the  stair.  As  I  approached  the  door  of 
which  I  was  in  search,  a  vapour,  infectious  and  deadly, 
assailed  my  senses.  It  resembled  nothing  of  which  I 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  /7$tf.  145 

had  ever  before  been  sensible.  Many  odours  had  been 
met  with,  even  since  my  arrival  in  the  city,  less  sup 
portable  than  this.  I  seemed  not  so  much  to  smell  as 
to  taste  the  element  that  now  encompassed  me.  I  felt 
as  if  I  had  inhaled  a  poisonous  and  subtle  fluid,  whose 
power  instantly  bereft  my  stomach  of  all  vigour.  Some 
fatal  influence  appeared  to  seize  upon  my  vitals,  and  the 
work  of  corrosion  and  decomposition  to  be  busily  begun. 

For  a  moment,  I  doubted  whether  imagination  had 
not  some  share  in  producing  my  sensation;  but  I  had 
not  been  previously  panic-struck ;  and  even  now  I  at 
tended  to  my  own  sensations  without  mental  discom 
posure.  That  I  had  imbibed  this  disease  was  not  to  be 
questioned.  So  far  the  chances  in  my  favour  were 
annihilated.  The  lot  of  sickness  was  drawn. 

Whether  my  case  would  be  lenient  or  malignant,  whe 
ther  I  should  recover  or  perish,  was  to  be  left  to  the 
decision  of  the  future.  This  incident,  instead  of  appal 
ling  me,  tended  rather  to  invigorate  my  courage.  The 
danger  which  I  feared  had  come.  I  might  enter  with 
indifference  on  this  theatre  of  pestilence.  I  might  exe 
cute,  without  faltering,  the  duties  that  my  circumstances 
might  create.  My  state  was  no  longer  hazardous ;  and 
my  destiny  would  be  totally  uninfluenced  by  my  future 
conduct. 

The  pang  with  which  I  was  first  seized,  and  the  mo 
mentary  inclination  to  vomit,  which  it  produced,  pre 
sently  subsided.  My  wholesome  feelings,  indeed,  did 
not  revisit  me,  but  strength  to  proceed  was  restored  to 
me.  The  effluvia  became  more  sensible  as  I  approached 
the  door  of  the  chamber.  The  door  was  ajar ;  and  the 
light  within  was  perceived.  My  belief  that  those  within 
were  dead  was  presently  confuted  by  sound,  which  I  first 
supposed  to  be  that  of  steps  moving  quickly  and  timo 
rously  across  the  floor.  This  ceased,  and  was  succeeded 
by  sounds  of  different  but  inexplicable  import. 

Having  entered  the  apartment,  I  saw  a  candle  on  the 
hearth.  A  table  was  covered  with  vials  and  other  appa 
ratus  of  a  sick-chamber.  A  bed  stood  on  one  side,  the 
curtain  of  which  was  dropped  at  the  foot,  so  as  to  con 
ceal  any  one  within.  I  fixed  my  eyes  upon  this  object. 
10 


146  ARTHUR  MERVYN. 

There  were  sufficient  tokens  that  some  one  lay  upon  th« 
bed.  Breath,  drawn  at  long  intervals ;  mutteringg 
scarcely  audible;  and  a  tremulous  motion  in  the  bed 
stead,  were  fearful  and  intelligible  indications. 

If  my  heart  faltered,  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  my 
trepidations  arose  from  any  selfish  considerations.  Wal 
lace  only,  the  object  of  my  search,  was  present  to  my 
fancy.  Pervaded  with  remembrance  of  the  Hadwins; 
of  the  agonies  which  they  had  already  endured ;  of  the 
despair  which  would  overwhelm  the  unhappy  Susan 
when  the  death  of  her  lover  should  be  ascertained ;  ob 
servant  of  the  lonely  condition  of  this  house,  whence  I 
could  only  infer  that  the  sick  had  been  denied  suitable 
attendance;  and  reminded,  by  the  symptoms  that  ap 
peared,  that  this  being  was  struggling  with  the  agoniea 
of  death;  a  sickness  of  the  heart,  more  insupportable 
than  that  which  I  had  just  experienced,  stole  upon  me. 

My  fancy  readily  depicted  the  progress  and  comple 
tion  of  this  tragedy.  Wallace  was  the  first  of  the 
family  on  whom  the  pestilence  had  seized.  Thetford 
had  fled  from  his  habitation.  Perhaps  as  a  father  and 
husband,  to  shun  the  danger  attending  his  stay  was  the 
injunction  of  his  duty.  It  was  questionless  the  conduct 
which  selfish  regards  would  dictate.  Wallace  was  left 
to  perish  alone;  or,  perhaps,  (which,  indeed,  was  a  sup 
position  somewhat  justified  by  appearances,)  he  had  been 
left  to  the  tendance  of  mercenary  wretches;  by  whom, 
at  this  desperate  moment,  he  had  been  abandoned. 

I  was  not  mindless  of  the  possibility  that  these  fore 
bodings,  specious  as  they  were,  might  be  false.  The 
dying  person  might  be  some  other  than  Wallace.  The 
whispers  of  my  hope  were,  indeed,  faint;  but  they,  at 
least,  prompted  me  to  snatch  a  look  at  the  expiring  man. 
For  this  purpose  I  advanced  arid  thrust  my  head  within 
the  curtain. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  features  of  one  whom  I  had  seen  so  transiently 
as  Wallace  may  be  imagined  to  be  not  easily  recognised, 
especially  when  those  features  were  tremulous  and  death- 
ful.  Here,  however,  the  differences  were  too  conspicuous 
to  mislead  me.  I  beheld  one  in  whom  I  could  recollect 
none  that  bore  resemblance.  Though  ghastly  and  livid, 
the  traces  of  intelligence  and  beauty  were  undefaced. 
The  life  of  Wallace  was  of  more  value  to  a  feeble  indi 
vidual  ;  but  surely  the  being  that  was  stretched  before 
me,  and  who  was  hastening  to  his  last  breath,  was  pre 
cious  to  thousands. 

Was  he  not  one  in  whose  place  I  would  willingly  have 
died  ?  The  offering  was  too  late.  His  extremities  were 
already  cold.  A  vapour,  noisome  and  contagious,  hovered 
over  him.  The  flutterings  of  his  pulse  had  ceased.  His 
existence  was  about  to  close  amidst  convulsion  and 
pangs. 

I  withdrew  my  gaze  from  this  object,  and  walked  to  a 
table.  I  was  nearly  unconscious  of  my  movements.  My 
thoughts  were  occupied  with  contemplations  of  the  train 
of  horrors  and  disasters  that  pursue  the  race  of  man. 
My  musings  were  quickly  interrupted  by  the  sight  of  a 
small  cabinet,  the  hinges  of  which  were  broken  and  the 
lid  half  raised.  In  the  present  state  of  my  thoughts,  I 
was  prone  to  suspect  the  worst.  Here  were  traces  of 
pillage.  Some  casual  or  mercenary  attendant  had  not 
only  contributed  to  hasten  the  death  of  the  patient,  but 
had  rifled  his  property  and  fled. 

This  suspicion  would,  perhaps,  have  yielded  to  mature 
reflections,  if  I  had  been  suffered  to  reflect.  A  moment 
scarcely  elapsed,  when  some  appearance  in  the  mirror, 

147 


148  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

which  hung  over  the  table,  called  my  attention.  It  was 
a  human  figure.  Nothing  could  be  briefer  than  the 
glance  that  I  fixed  upon  this  apparition ;  yet  there  was 
room  enough  for  the  vague  conception  to  suggest  itself, 
that  the  dying  man  had  started  from  his  bed  and  was 
approaching  me.  This  belief  was,  at  the  same  instant, 
confuted,  by  the  survey  of  his  form  and  garb.  One  eye, 
a  scar  upon  his  cheek,  a  tawny  skin,  a  form  grotesquely 
misproportioned,  brawny  as  Hercules,  and  habited  in 
livery,  composed,  as  it  were,  the  parts  of  one  view. 

To  perceive,  to  fear,  and  to  confront  this  apparition 
were  blended  into  one  sentiment.  I  turned  towards  him 
with  the  swiftness  of  lightning ;  but  my  speed  was  use 
less  to  my  safety.  A  blow  upon  my  temple  was  suc 
ceeded  by  an  utter  oblivion  of  thought  and  of  feeling. 
I  sunk  upon  the  floor  prostrate  and  senseless. 

My  insensibility  might  be  mistaken  by  observers  for 
death,  yet  some  part  of  this  interval  was  haunted  by  a 
fearful  dream.  I  conceived  myself  lying  on  the  brink 
of  a  pit,  whose  bottom  the  eye  could  not  reach.  My 
hands  and  legs  were  fettered,  so  as  to  disable  me  from 
resisting  two  grim  and  gigantic  figures  who  stooped  to 
lift  me  from  the  earth.  Their  purpose,  methought,  was 
to  cast  me  into  this  abyss.  My  terrors  were  unspeak 
able,  and  I  struggled  with  such  force,  that  my  bonds 
snapped  and  I  found  myself  at  liberty.  At  this  moment 
my  senses  returned,  and  I  opened  my  eyes. 

The  memory  of  recent  events  was,  for  a  time,  effaced 
by  my  visionary  horrors.  I  was  conscious  of  transition 
from  one  state  of  being  to  another ;  but  my  imagination 
was  still  filled  with  images  of  danger.  The  bottomless 
gulf  and  my  gigantic  persecutors  were  still  dreaded.  I 
looked  up  with  eagerness.  Beside  me  I  discovered  three 
figures,  whose  character  or  office  was  explained  by  a 
coffin  of  pine  boards  which  lay  upon  the  floor.  One 
stood  with  hammer  and  nails  in  his  hand,  as  ready  to 
replace  and  fasten  the  lid  of  the  coffin  as  soon  as  its 
burden  should  be  received. 

I  attempted  to  rise  from  the  floor,  but  my  head  was 
dizzy  and  my  sight  confused.  Perceiving  me  revive, 
one  of  the  men  assisted  me  to  regain  my  feet.  The  mist 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  //£?.  149 

and  confusion  presently  vanished,  so  as  to  allow  me  to 
stand  unsupported  and  to  move.  I  once  more  gazed  at 
my  attendants,  and  recognised  the  three  men  whom  I 
had  met  in  High  Street,  and  whose  conversation  I  have 
mentioned  that  I  overheard.  I  looked  again  upon  the 
coffin.  A  wavering  recollection  of  the  incidents  that 
led  me  hither,  and  of  the  stunning  blow  which  I  had 
received,  occurred  to  me.  I  saw  into  what  error  ap 
pearances  had  misled  these  men,  and  shuddered  to 
reflect  by  what  hairbreadth  means  I  had  escaped  being 
buried  alive. 

Before  the  men  had  time  to  interrogate  me,  or  to 
comment  upon  my  situation,  one  entered  the  apartment, 
whose  habit  and  mien  tended  to  encourage  me.  The 
stranger  was  characterized  by  an  aspect  full  of  com 
posure  and  benignity,  a  face  in  which  the  serious  lines 
of  age  were  blended  with  the  ruddiness  and  smoothness 
of  youth,  and  a  garb  that  bespoke  that  religious  pro 
fession  with  whose  benevolent  doctrines  the  example  of 
Hadwin  had  rendered  me  familiar. 

On  observing  me  on  my  feet,  he  betrayed  marks  of 
surprise  and  satisfaction.  He  addressed  me  in  a  tone 
of  mildness : — 

"Young  man,"  said  he,  "what  is  thy  condition?  Art 
thou  sick  :  If  thou  art,  thou  must  consent  to  receive 
the  best  treatment  which  the  times  will  afford.  These 
men  will  convey  thee  to  the  hospital  at  Bush  Hill." 

The  mention  of  that  contagious  and  abhorred  recep 
tacle  inspired  me  with  some  degree  of  energy.  "No," 
said  I,  "I  am  not  sick;  a  violent  blow  reduced  me  to 
this  situation.  I  shall  presently  recover  strength  enough 
to  leave  this  spot  without  assistance." 

He  looked  at  me  with  an  incredulous  but  compas 
sionate  air: — "I  fear  thou  dost  deceive  thyself  or  me. 
The  necessity  of  going  to  the  hospital  is  much  to  be  re 
gretted,  but,  on  the  whole,  it  is  best.  Perhaps,  indeed, 
thou  hast  kindred  or  friends  who  will  take  care  of  thee?" 

"No,"  said  I;  "neither  kindred  nor  friends.  I  am 
a  stranger  in  the  city.  I  do  not  even  know  a  single 
being." 

"Alas!"  returned  the  stranger,  with   a  sigh,   "thy 


I5O  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

Btate  is  sorrowful.     But  how  earnest  thou  hither?"  con 
tinued   he,  looking  around  him;    "and  whence   coraest 
thou?" 

"I  came  from  the  country.  I  reached  the  city  a  few 
hours  ago.  I  was  in  search  of  a  friend  who  lived  in  this 
house." 

"  Thy  undertaking  was  strangely  hazardous  and 
rash ;  but  who  is  the  friend  thou  seekest  ?  Was  it  he 
who  died  in  that  bed,  and  whose  corpse  has  just  been 
removed?" 

The  men  now  betrayed  some  impatience ;  and  in 
quired  of  the  last  comer,  whom  they  called  Mr.  Est- 
wick,  what  they  were  to  do.  He  turned  to  me,  and 
asked  if  I  were  willing  to  be  conducted  to  the  hospital. 

I  assured  him  that  I  was  free  from  disease,  and  stood 
in  no  need  of  assistance  ;  adding,  that  my  feebleness  was 
owing  to  a  stunning  blow  received  from  a  ruffian  on  my 
temple.  The  marks  of  this  blow  were  conspicuous,  and 
after  some  hesitation  he  dismissed  the  men  ;  who,  lifting 
the  empty  coffin  on  their  shoulders,  disappeared. 

He  now  invited  me  to  descend  into  the  parlour ; 
"for,"  said  he,  "the  air  of  this  room  is  deadly.  I  feel 
already  as  if  I  should  have  reason  to  repent  of  having 
entered  it." 

He  now  inquired  into  the  cause  of  those  appearances 
•which  he  had  witnessed.  I  explained  my  situation  aa 
clearly  and  succinctly  as  I  was  able. 

After  pondering,  in  silence,  on  my  story, — "I  see 
how  it  is,"  said  he;  "the  person  whom  thou  sawest  in  the 
agonies  of  death  was  a  stranger.  He  was  attended  by 
his  servant  and  a  hired  nurse.  His  master's  death  being 
certain,  the  nurse  was  despatched  by  the  servant  to  pro 
cure  a  coffin.  He  probably  chose  that  opportunity  to 
rifle  his  master's  trunk,  that  stood  upon  the  table.  Thy 
unseasonable  entrance  interrupted  him  ;  and  he  designed, 
by  the  blow  which  he  gave  thee,  to  secure  his  retreat 
before  the  arrival  of  a  hearse.  I  know  the  man,  and 
the  apparition  thou  hast  so  well  described  was  his. 
Thou  sayest  that  a  friend  of  thine  lived  in  this  house : 
thou  hast  come  too  late  to  be  of  service.  The  whole 
family  have  perished.  Not  one  was  suffered  to  escape." 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  !$! 

This  intelligence  was  fatal  to  my  hopes.  It  required 
some  efforts  to  subdue  my  rising  emotions.  Compassion 
not  only  for  Wallace,  but  for  Thetford,  his  father,  his 
wife  and  his  child,  caused  a  passionate  effusion  of  tears. 
I  was  ashamed  of  this  useless  and  childlike  sensibility; 
and  attempted  to  apologize  to  my  companion.  The 
sympathy,  however,  had  proved  contagious,  and  the 
stranger  turned  away  his  face  to  hide  his  own  tears. 

"Nay,"  said  he,  in  answer  to  my  excuses,  "there  is 
no  need  to  be  ashamed  of  thy  emotion.  Merely  to  have 
known  this  family,  and  to  have  witnessed  their  de 
plorable  fate,  is  sufficient  to  melt  the  most  obdurate 
heart.  I  suspect  that  thou  wast  united  to  some  one  of 
this  family  by  ties  of  tenderness  like  those  which  led  the 
unfortunate  Maravegli  hither." 

This  suggestion  was  attended,  in  relation  to  myself, 
with  some  degree  of  obscurity ;  but  my  curiosity  was 
somewhat  excited  by  the  name  that  he  had  mentioned. 
I  inquired  into  the  character  and  situation  of  this  per 
son,  and  particularly  respecting  his  connection  with  this 
family. 

"Maravegli,"  answered  he,  "was  the  lover  of  the 
eldest  daughter,  and  already  betrothed  to  her.  The 
whole  family,  consisting  of  helpless  females,  had  placed 
themselves  under  his  peculiar  guardianship.  Mary  Wai- 
pole  and  her  children  enjoyed  in  him  a  husband  and  a 
father." 

The  name  of  Walpole,  to  which  I  was  a  stranger,  sug 
gested  doubts  which  I  hastened  to  communicate.  "  I  am 
in  search,"  said  I,  "not  of  a  female  friend,  though  not 
devoid  of  interest  in  the  welfare  of  Thetford  and  his 
family.  My  principal  concern  is  for  a  youth,  by  name 
Wallace." 

He  looked  at  me  with  surprise.  "  Thetford !  this  is 
not  his  abode.  He  changed  his  habitation  some  weeks 
previous  to  the  fever.  Those  who  last  dwelt  under  this 
roof  were  an  Englishwoman  and  seven  daughters." 

This  detection  of  my  error  somewhat  consoled  me.  It 
was  still  possible  that  Wallace  was  alive  and  in  safety. 
I  eagerly  inquired  whither  Thetford  had  removed,  and 


152  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

whether  he  had  any  knowledge  of  his  present  condi 
tion. 

They  had  removed  to  No.  — ,  in  Market  Street.  Con 
cerning  their  state  he  knew  nothing.  His  acquaintance 
with  Thetford  was  imperfect.  Whether  he  had  left  the 
city  or  had  remained,  he  was  wholly  uninformed. 

It  became  me  to  ascertain  the  truth  in  these  respects. 
I  was  preparing  to  offer  my  parting  thanks  to  the  person 
by  whom  I  had  been  so  highly  benefited ;  since,  as  he 
now  informed  me,  it  was  by  his  interposition  that  I  was 
hindered  from  being  enclosed  alive  in  a  coffin.  He  was 
dubious  of  my  true  condition,  and  peremptorily  com 
manded  the  followers  of  the  hearse  to  desist.  A  delay 
of  twenty  minutes,  and  some  medical  application,  would, 
he  believed,  determine  whether  my  life  was  extinguished 
or  suspended.  At  the  end  of  this  time,  happily,  my 
senses  were  recovered. 

Seeing  my  intention  to  depart,  he  inquired  why,  and 
whither  I  was  going.  Having  heard  my  answer, — "Thy 
design,"  resumed  he,  "  is  highly  indiscreet  and  rash. 
Nothing  will  sooner  generate  this  fever  than  fatigue  and 
anxiety.  Thou  hast  scarcely  recovered  from  the  blow  so 
lately  received.  Instead  of  being  useful  to  others,  this 
precipitation  will  only  disable  thyself.  Instead  of  roam 
ing  the  streets  and  inhaling  this  unwholesome  air,  thou 
hadst  better  betake  thyself  to  bed  and  try  to  obtain 
some  sleep.  In  the  morning,  thou  wilt  be  better  quali 
fied  to  ascertain  the  fate  of  thy  friend,  and  afford  him 
the  relief  which  he  shall  want." 

I  could  not  but  admit  the  reasonableness  of  these  re 
monstrances  ;  but  where  should  a  chamber  and  bed  be 
sought  ?  It  was  not  likely  that  a  new  attempt  to  pro 
cure  accommodation  at  the  inns  would  succeed  better 
than  the  former. 

"  Thy  state,"  replied  he,  "  is  sorrowful.  I  have  no 
house  to  which  I  can  lead  thee.  I  divide  my  chamber, 
and  even  my  bed,  with  another,  and  my  landlady  could 
not  be  prevailed  upon  to  admit  a  stranger.  What  thou 
wilt  do,  I  know  not.  This  house  has  no  one  to  defend 
it.  It  was  purchased  and  furnished  by  the  last  posses 
sor;  but  the  whole  family,  including  mistress,  children, 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  153 

and  servants,  were  cut  off  in  a  single  week.  Perhaps  no 
one  in  America  can  claim  the  property.  Meanwhile, 
plunderers  are  numerous  and  active.  A  house  thus 
totally  deserted,  and  replenished  with  valuable  furniture, 
will,  I  fear,  become  their  prey.  To-night  nothing  can 
be  done  towards  rendering  it  secure,  but  staying  in  it. 
Art  thou  willing  to  remain  here  till  the  morrow  ? 

"  Every  bed  in  the  house  has  probably  sustained  a 
dead  person.  It  would  not  be  proper,  therefore,  to  lie 
in  any  one  of  them.  Perhaps  thou  mayest  find  some 
repose  upon  this  carpet.  It  is,  at  least,  better  than  the 
harder  pavement  and  the  open  air." 

This  proposal,  after  some  hesitation,  I  embraced.  He 
was  preparing  to  leave  me,  promising,  if  life  were  spared 
to  him,  to  return  early  in  the  morning.  My  curiosity 
respecting  the  person  whose  dying  agonies  I  had  wit 
nessed  prompted  me  to  detain  him  a  few  minutes. 

"Ah!"  said  he,  "this,  perhaps,  is  the  only  one  of 
many  victims  to  this  pestilence  whose  loss  the  remotest 
generations  may  have  reason  to  deplore.  He  was  the 
only  descendant  of  an  illustrious  house  of  Venice.  He 
has  been  devoted  from  his  childhood  to  the  acquisition  of 
knowledge  and  the  practice  of  virtue.  He  came  hither 
as  an  enlightened  observer;  and,  after  traversing  the 
country,  conversing  with  all  the  men  in  it  eminent  for  their 
talents  or  their  office,  and  collecting  a  fund  of  observa 
tions  whose  solidity  and  justice  have  seldom  been  paral 
leled,  he  embarked,  three  months  ago,  for  Europe. 

"  Previously  to  his  departure,  he  formed  a  tender  con 
nection  with  the  eldest  daughter  of  this  family.  The 
mother  and  her  children  had  recently  arrived  from  Eng 
land.  So  many  faultless  women,  both  mentally  and  per 
sonally  considered,  it  was  not  my  fortune  to  meet  with 
before.  This  youth  well  deserved  to  be  adopted  into  this 
family.  He  proposed  to  return  with  the  utmost  expedi 
tion  to  his  native  country,  and,  after  the  settlement  of 
his  affairs,  to  hasten  back  to  America  and  ratify  his  con 
tract  with  Fanny  Walpole. 

"  The  ship  in  which  he  embarked  had  scarcely  gone 
twenty  leagues  to  sea,  before  she  was  disabled  by  a  storm, 
and  obliged  to  return  to  port.  He  posted  to  New  York, 


154  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

to  gain  a  passage  in  a  packet  shortly  to  sail.  Meanwhile 
this  malady  prevailed  among  us.  Mary  Wai  pole  was 
hindered  by  her  ignorance  of  the  nature  of  that  evil 
which  assailed  us,  and  the  counsel  of  injudicious  friends, 
from  taking  the  due  precautions  for  her  safety.  She 
hesitated  to  fly  till  flight  was  rendered  impracticable. 
Her  death  added  to  the  helplessness  and  distraction  of 
the  family.  They  were  successively  seized  and  destroyed 
by  the  same  pest. 

"  Maravegli  was  apprized  of  their  danger.  He  allowed 
the  packet  to  depart  without  him,  and  hastened  to  rescue 
the  Walpoles  from  the  perils  which  encompassed  them. 
He  arrived  in  this  city  time  enough  to  witness  the  inter 
ment  of  the  last  survivor.  In  the  same  hour  he  was  seized 
himself  by  this  disease:  the  catastrophe  is  known  to 
thee. 

"  I  will  now  leave  thee  to  thy  repose.  Sleep  is  no  less 
needful  to  myself  than  to  thee ;  for  this  is  the  second 
night  which  has  passed  without  it."  Saying  this,  my 
companion  took  his  leave. 

I  now  enjoyed  leisure  to  review  my  situation.  I  ex 
perienced  no  inclination  to  sleep.  I  lay  down  for  a  mo 
ment,  but  my  comfortless  sensations  and  restless  contem 
plations  would  not  permit  me  to  rest.  Before  I  entered 
this  house,  I  was  tormented  with  hunger;  but  my  craving 
had  given  place  to  inquietude  and  loathing.  I  paced, 
in  thoughtful  and  anxious  mood,  across  the  floor  of  the 
apartment. 

I  mused  upon  the  incidents  related  by  Estwick,  upon 
the  exterminating  nature  of  this  pestilence,  and  on  the 
horrors  of  which  it  was  productive.  I  compared  the  ex 
perience  of  the  last  hours  with  those  pictures  which  my 
imagination  had  drawn  in  the  retirements  of  Malverton. 
I  wondered  at  the  contrariety  that  exists  between  the 
scenes  of  the  city  and  the  country;  and  fostered,  with 
more  zeal  than  ever,  the  resolution  to  avoid  those  scats 
of  depravity  and  danger. 

Concerning  my  own  destiny,  however,  I  entertained  no 
doubt.  My  new  sensations  assured  me  that  my  stomach 
had  received  this  corrosive  poison.  Whether  I  should 
die  or  live  was  easily  decided.  The  sickness  which 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR   1793.  155 

assiduous  attendance  and  powerful  prescriptions  might 
remove  would,  by  negligence  and  solitude,  be  rendered 
fatal ;  but  from  whom  could  I  expect  medical  or  friendly 
treatment  ? 

I  had  indeed  a  roof  over  my  head.  I  should  not  perish 
in  the  public  way;  but  what  was  my  ground  for  hoping  to 
continue  under  this  roof?  My  sickness  being  suspected, 
I  should  be  dragged  in  a  cart  to  the  hospital ;  where  I 
should,  indeed,  die,  but  not  with  the  consolation  of  lone 
liness  and  silence.  Dying  groans  were  the  only  music, 
and  livid  corpses  were  the  only  spectacle,  to  which  I 
should  there  be  introduced. 

Immured  in  these  dreary  meditations,  the  night  passed 
away.  The  light  glancing  through  the  window  awakened 
in  niy  bosom  a  gleam  of  cheerfulness.  Contrary  to  my 
expectations,  my  feelings  were  not  more  distempered, 
notwithstanding  my  want  of  sleep,  than  on  the  last 
evening.  This  was  a  token  that  my  state  was  far  from 
being  so  desperate  as  I  suspected.  It  was  possible,  I 
thought,  that  this  was  the  worst  indisposition  to  which  I 
was  liable. 

Meanwhile,  the  coming  of  Estwick  was  impatiently  ex 
pected.  The  sun  arose,  and  the  morning  advanced,  but 
he  came  not.  I  remembered  that  he  talked  of  having 
reason  to  repent  his  visit  to  this  house.  Perhaps  he,  like 
wise,  was  sick,  and  this  was  the  cause  of  his  delay.  This 
man's  kindness  had  even  my  love.  If  I  had  known  the 
way  to  his  dwelling,  I  should  have  hastened  thither,  to 
inquire  into  his  condition,  and  to  perform  for  him  every 
office  that  humanity  might  enjoin ;  but  he  had  not  af 
forded  me  any  information  on  that  head. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

IT  was  now  incumbent  on  me  to  seek  the  habitation  of 
Thetford.  To  leave  this  house  accessible  to  every  passen- 

fer  appeared  to  be  imprudent.  I  had  no  key  by  which 
might  lock  the  principal  door.  I  therefore  bolted  it 
on  the  inside,  and  passed  through  a  window,  the  shutters 
of  which  I  closed,  though  I  could  not  fasten  after  me. 
This  led  me  into  a  spacious  court,  at  the  end  of  which 
was  a  brick  wall,  over  which  I  leaped  into  the  street. 
This  was  the  means  by  which  I  had  formerly  escaped 
from  the  same  precincts. 

The  streets,  as  I  passed,  were  desolate  and  silent.  The 
largest  computation  made  the  number  of  fugitives  two- 
thirds  of  the  whole  people;  yet,  judging  by  the  universal 
desolation,  it  seemed  as  if  the  solitude  were  nearly  abso 
lute.  That  so  many  of  the  houses  were  closed,  I  was 
obliged  to  ascribe  to  the  cessation  of  traffic,  which  made 
the  opening  of  their  windows  useless,  and  the  terror  of 
infection,  which  made  the  inhabitants  seclude  themselves 
from  the  observation  of  each  other. 

I  proceeded  to  search  out  the  house  to  which  Estwick 
had  directed  me  as  the  abode  of  Thetford.  What  wag 
my  consternation  when  I  found  it  to  be  the  same  at  the 
door  of  which  the  conversation  took  place  of  which  I 
had  been  an  auditor  on  the  last  evening ! 

I  recalled  the  scene  of  which  a  rude  sketch  had  been 
given  by  the  hearse-men.  If  such  were  the  fate  of  the 
master  of  the  family,  abounding  with  money  and  friends, 
what  could  be  hoped  for  the  moneyless  and  friendless 
Wallace?  The  house  appeared  to  be  vacant  and  silent; 
but  these  tokens  might  deceive.  There  was  little  room 
156 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793-  1 57 

fur  hope ;  but  certainty  was  wanting,  and  might,  perhaps, 
be  obtained  by  entering  the  house.  In  some  of  the  upper 
rooms  a  wretched  being  might  be  immured ;  by  whom 
the  information,  so  earnestly  desired,  might  be  imparted, 
and  to  whom  my  presence  might  bring  relief,  not  only 
from  pestilence,  but  famine.  For  a  moment,  I  forgot 
my  own  necessitous  condition,  and  reflected  not  that 
abstinence  had  already  undermined  my  strength. 

I  proceeded  to  knock  at  the  door.  That  ray  signal 
was  unnoticed  produced  no  surprise.  The  door  was  un 
locked,  and  I  opened.  At  this  moment  my  attention 
was  attracted  by  the  opening  of  another  door  near  me. 
I  looked,  and  perceived  a  man  issuing  forth  from  a  house 
at  a  small  distance. 

It  now  occurred  to  me,  that  the  information  which  I 
sought  might  possibly  be  gained  from  one  of  Thetford's 
neighbours.  This  person  was  aged,  but  seemed  to  have 
lost  neither  cheerfulness  nor  vigour.  He  had  an  air  of 
intrepidity  and  calmness.  It  soon  appeared  that  I  was 
the  object  of  his  curiosity.  He  had,  probably,  marked 
my  deportment  through  some  window  of  his  dwelling, 
and  had  come  forth  to  make  inquiries  into  the  motives 
of  my  conduct. 

He  courteously  saluted  me.  "  You  seem,"  said  he, 
"to  be  in  search  of  some  one.  If  I  can  afford  you  the 
information  you  want,  you  will  be  welcome  to  it." 

Encouraged  by  this  address,  I  mentioned  the  name  of 
Thetford ;  and  added  my  fears  that  he  had  not  escaped 
the  general  calamity. 

"It  is  true,"  said  he.  "Yesterday  himself,  his  wife, 
and  his  child,  were  in  a  hopeless  condition.  I  saw  them 
in  the  evening,  and  expected  not  to  find  them  alive  this 
morning.  As  soon  as  it  was  light,  however,  I  visited 
the  house  again ;  but  found  it  empty.  I  suppose  they 
must  have  died,  and  been  removed  in  the  night." 

Though  anxious  to  ascertain  the  destiny  of  Wallace,  I 
was  unwilling  to  put  direct  questions.  I  shuddered, 
while  I  longed  to  know  the  truth. 

"Why,"  said  I,  falteringly,  "did  he  not  seasonably 
withdraw  from  the  city  ?  Surely  he  had  the  means  of 
purchasing  an  asylum  in  the  country." 


158  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

"I  can  scarcely  tell  you,"  he  answered.  "Some  in 
fatuation  appeared  to  have  seized  him.  No  one  was 
more  timorous;  but  he  seemed  to  think  himself  safe  as 
long  as  he  avoided  contact  with  infected  persons.  lie 
was  likewise,  I  believe,  detained  by  a  regard  to  his  inte 
rest.  His  flight  would  not  have  been  more  injurious  to 
his  affairs  than  it  was  to  those  of  others;  but  gain  was, 
in  his  eyes,  the  supreme  good.  lie  intended  ultimately 
to  withdraw ;  but  his  escape  to-day,  gave  him  new  cou 
rage  to  encounter  the  perils  of  to-morrow.  He  de 
ferred  his  departure  from  day  to  day,  till  it  ceased  to  be 
practicable." 

"His  family,"  said  I,  "was  numerous.  It  consisted 
of  more  than  his  wife  and  children.  Perhaps  these  re 
tired  in  sufficient  season." 

"Yes,"  said  he;  "his  father  left  the  house  at  an  early 
period.  One  or  two  of  the  servants  likewise  forsook 
him.  One  girl,  more  faithful  and  heroic  than  the  rest, 
resisted  the  remonstrances  of  her  parents  and  friends, 
and  resolved  to  adhere  to  him  in  every  fortune.  She 
was  anxious  that  the  family  should  fly  from  danger,  and 
would  willingly  have  11  ed  in  their  company ;  but  while 
they  stayed,  it  was  her  immovable  resolution  not  to 
abandon  them. 

"Alas,  poor  girl!  She  knew  not  of  what  stuff  the 
heart  of  Thetford  was  made.  Unhappily,  she  was  the 
first  to  become  sick.  I  question  much  whether  her  dis 
ease  was  pestilential.  It  was,  probably,  a  slight  indis 
position,  which,  in  a  few  days,  would  have  vanished  of 
itself,  or  have  readily  yielded  to  suitable  treatment. 

"  Thetford  was  transfixed  with  terror.  Instead  of 
summoning  a  physician,  to  ascertain  the  nature  of  her 
symptoms,  he  called  a  negro  and  his  cart  from  Bush 
Hill.  In  vain  the  neighbours  interceded  for  this  unhappy 
victim.  In  vain  she  implored  his  clemency,  and  asserted 
the  lightness  of  her  indisposition.  She  besought  him  to 
allow  her  to  send  to  her  mother,  who  resided  a  few  miles 
in  the  country,  who  would  hasten  to  her  succour,  and  re 
lieve  him  and  his  family  from  the  danger  and  trouble  of 
nursing  her. 

"The  man  was  lunatic  with  apprehension.     He  re- 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  159 

jccted  her  entreaties,  though  urged  in  a  manner  that 
would  have  subdued  a  heart  of  flint.  The  girl  was  inno 
cent,  and  amiable,  and  courageous,  but  entertained  an 
unconquerable  dread  of  the  hospital.  Finding  entreaties 
ineffectual,  she  exerted  all  her  strength  in  opposition  to 
the  man  who  lifted  her  into  the  cart. 

"Finding  that  her  struggles  availed  nothing,  she  re 
signed  herself  to  despair.  In  going  to  the  hospital,  she 
believed  herself  led  to  certain  death,  and  to  the  suffer 
ance  of  every  evil  which  the  known  inhumanity  of  its 
attendants  could  inflict.  This  state  of  mind,  added  to 
exposure  to  a  noonday  sun,  in  an  open  vehicle,  moving, 
for  a  mile,  over  a  rugged  pavement,  was  sufficient  to 
destroy  her.  I  was  not  surprised  to  hear  that  she  died 
the  next  day. 

"  This  proceeding  was  sufficiently  iniquitous  ;  yet  it  was 
not  the  worst  act  of  this  man.  The  rank  and  education 
of  the  young  woman  might  be  some  apology  for  negli 
gence  ;  but  his  clerk,  a  youth  who  seemed  to  enjoy  his 
confidence,  and  to  be  treated  by  his  family  on  the  footing 
of  a  brother  or  son,  fell  sick  on  the  next  night,  and  was 
treated  in  the  same  manner." 

These  tidings  struck  me  to  the  heart.  A  burst  of  in 
dignation  and  sorrow  filled  my  eyes.  I  could  scarcely 
stifle  my  emotions  sufficiently  to  ask,  "  Of  whom,  sir, 
do  you  speak  ?  Was  the  name  of  the  youth  —  his  name  — 


"  His  name  was  Wallace.  I  see  that  you  have  some 
interest  in  his  fate.  He  was  one  whom  I  loved.  I 
would  have  given  half  my  fortune  to  procure  him  ac 
commodation  under  some  hospitable  roof.  His  attack 
was  violent  ;  but,  still,  his  recovery,  if  he  had  been  suit 
ably  attended,  was  possible.  That  he  should  survive  re 
moval  to  the  hospital,  and  the  treatment  he  must  receive 
when  there,  was  not  to  be  hoped. 

"  The  conduct  of  Thctford  was  as  absurd  as  it  was 
wicked.  To  imagine  the  disease  to  be  contagious  was 
the  height  of  folly  ;  to  suppose  himself  secure,  merely 
by  not  permitting  a  sick  man  to  remain  under  his  roof, 
was  no  less  stupid;  but  Thetford's  fears  had  subverted 
his  understanding.  He  did  not  listen  to  arguments  or 


160  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

supplications.  His  attention  was  incapable  of  straying 
from  one  object.  To  influence  bira  by  words  was  equiva 
lent  to  reasoning  with  the  deaf. 

"  Perhaps  the  wretch  was  more  to  be  pitied  than  hated. 
The  victims  of  his  implacable  caution  could  scarcely 
have  endured  agonies  greater  than  those  which  his 
pusillanimity  inflicted  on  himself.  Whatever  be  the 
amount  of  his  guilt,  the  retribution  has  been  adequate, 
lie  witnessed  the  death  of  his  wife  and  child,  and  last 
night  was  the  close  of  his  own  existence.  Their  sole 
attendant  was  a  black  woman ;  whom,  by  frequent  visits, 
I  endeavoured,  with  little  success,  to  make  diligent  in 
the  performance  of  her  duty." 

Such,  then,  was  the  catastrophe  of  Wallace.  The 
end  for  which  I  journeyed  hither  was  accomplished.  His 
destiny  was  ascertained;  and  all  that  remained  was  to 
fulfil  the  gloomy  predictions  of  the  lovely  but  unhappy 
Susan.  To  tell  them  all  the  truth  would  be  needlessly 
to  exasperate  her  sorrow.  Time,  aided  by  the  tender 
ness  and  sympathy  of  friendship,  may  banish  her  despair, 
and  relieve  her  from  all  but  the  witcheries  of  melancholy. 

Having  disengaged  my  mind  from  these  reflections,  I 
explained  to  my  companion,  in  general  terms,  my  rea 
sons  for  visiting  the  city,  and  my  curiosity  respecting 
Thetford.  He  inquired  into  the  particulars  of  my  jour 
ney,  and  the  time  of  my  arrival.  When  informed  that 
I  had  come  in  the  preceding  evening,  and  had  passed 
the  subsequent  hours  without  sleep  or  food,  he  expressed 
astonishment  and  compassion. 

"Your  undertaking,"  said  he,  "has  certainly  been 
hazardous.  There  is  poison  in  every  breath  which  you 
draw,  but  this  hazard  has  been  greatly  increased  by 
abstaining  from  food  and  sleep.  My  advice  is  to  hasten 
back  into  the  country ;  but  you  must  first  take  some 
repose  and  some  victuals.  If  you  pass  Schuylkill  be 
fore  nightfall,  it  will  be  sufficient." 

I  mentioned  the  difficulty  of  procuring  accommodation 
on  the  road.  It  would  be  most  prudent  to  set  out  upon 
my  journey  so  as  to  reach  Malverton  at  night.  As  to 
food  and  sleep,  they  were  not  to  be  purchased  in  this 
city. 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  l6l 

"  True,"  answered  mj  companion,  with  quickness, 
"they  are  not  to  be  bought ;  but  I  will  furnish  you  with 
as  much  as  you  desire  of  both,  for  nothing.  That  is  my 
abode,"  continued  he,  pointing  to  the  house  which  he 
had  lately  left.  "  I  reside  with  a  widow  lady  and  her 
daughter,  who  took  my  counsel,  and  fled  in  due  season. 
I  remain  to  moralize  upon  the  scene,  with  only  a  faithful 
black,  who  makes  my  bed,  prepares  my  coffee,  and  bakes 
my  loaf.  If  I  am  sick,  all  that  a  physician  can  do,  I 
will  do  for  myself,  and  all  that  a  nurse  can  perform,  I 
expect  to  be  performed  by  Austin. 

"  Come  with  me,  drink  some  coffee,  rest  a  while  on  my 
mattress,  and  then  fly,  with  my  benedictions  on  your 
head." 

These  words  were  accompanied  by  features  disembar 
rassed  and  benevolent.  My  temper  is  alive  to  social 
impulses,  and  I  accepted  his  invitation,  not  so  much  be 
cause  I  wished  to  eat  or  to  sleep,  but  because  I  felt  re 
luctance  to  part  so  soon  with  a  being  who  possessed  so 
much  fortitude  and  virtue. 

He  was  surrounded  by  neatness  and  plenty.  Austin 
added  dexterity  to  submissiveness.  My  companion, 
whose  name  I  now  found  to  be  Medlicote,  was  prone  to 
converse,  and  commented  on  the  state  of  the  city  like 
one  whose  reading  had  been  extensive  and  experience 
large.  He  combated  an  opinion  which  I  had  casually 
formed  respecting  the  origin  of  this  epidemic,  and  im 
puted  it,  not  to  infected  substances  imported  from  the 
East  or  West,  but  to  a  morbid  constitution  of  the  atmo 
sphere,  owing  wholly  or  in  part  to  filthy  streets,  airless 
habitations,  and  squalid  persons. 

As  I  talked  with  this  man,  the  sense  of  danger  was 
obliterated,  I  felt  confidence  revive  in  my  heart,  and 
energy  revisit  my  stomach.  Though  far  from  my  wonted 
health,  my  sensation  grew  less  comfortless,  and  I  found 
myself  to  stand  in  no  need  of  repose. 

Breakfast  being  finished,  my  friend  pleaded  his  daily 
engagements  as  reasons  for  leaving  me.  He  counselled 
me  to  strive  for  some  repose,  but  I  was  conscious  of  in 
capacity  to  sleep.  I  was  desirous  of  escaping,  as  soon 
as  possible,  from  this  tainted  atmosphere,  and  reflected 
11 


l62  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

whether  any  thing  remained  to  be  done  respecting 
Wallace. 

It  now  occurred  to  me  that  this  youth  must  have  left 
some  clothes  and  papers,  and,  perhaps,  books.  The  pro 
perty  of  these  was  now  vested  in  the  Hadwins.  I  might 
deem  myself,  without  presumption,  their  representative 
or  agent.  Might  I  not  take  some  measures  for  obtaining 
possession,  or  at  least  for  the  security,  of  these  articles  : 

The  house  and  its  furniture  were  tenantless  and  un 
protected.  It  was  liable  to  be  ransacked  and  pillaged 
by  those  desperate  ruffians  of  whom  many  were  said  to 
be  hunting  for  spoil  even  at  a  time  like  this.  If  these 
should  overlook  this  dwelling,  Thetford's  unknown  suc 
cessor  or  heir  might  appropriate  the  whole.  Numberless 
accidents  might  happen  to  occasion  the  destruction  or 
embezzlement  of  what  belonged  to  Wallace,  which  might 
be  prevented  by  the  conduct  which  I  should  now  pursue. 

Immersed  in  these  perplexities,  I  remained  bewildered 
and  motionless.  I  was  at  length  roused  by  some  one 
knocking  at  the  door.  Austin  obeyed  the  signal,  and 
instantly  returned,  leading  in — Mr.  lladwin ! 

I  know  not  whether  this  unlooked-for  interview  ex 
cited  on  my  part  most  grief  or  surprise.  The  motive 
of  his  coining  was  easily  divined.  His  journey  was  on 
two  accounts  superfluous.  He  whom  he  sought  was 
dead.  The  duty  of  ascertaining  his  condition  I  had 
assigned  to  myself. 

I  now  perceived  and  deplored  the  error  of  which  I  had 
been  guilty,  in  concealing  my  intended  journey  from  my 
patron.  Ignorant  of  the  part  I  had  acted,  he  had 
rushed  into  the  jaws  of  this  pest,  and  endangered  a  life 
unspeakably  valuable  to  his  children  and  friends.  I 
should  doubtless  have  obtained  his  grateful  consent  to 
the  project  which  I  had  conceived;  but  my  wretched 
policy  had  led  me  into  this  clandestine  path.  Secrecy 
may  seldom  be  a  crime.  A  virtuous  intention  may  pro 
duce  it;  but  surely  it  is  always  erroneous  and  pernicious. 

My  friend's  astonishment  at  the  sight  of  me  was  not 
inferior  to  my  own.  The  causes  which  led  to  this  unex 
pected  interview  were  mutually  explained.  To  soothe 
the  agonies  of  his  child,  he  consented  to  approach  the 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  163 

city,  and  endeavour  to  procure  intelligence  of  Wallace. 
When  he  left  his  house,  he  intended  to  stop  in  the  envi 
rons,  and  hire  some  emissary,  whom  an  ample  reward 
might  tempt  to  enter  the  city,  and  procure  the  informa 
tion  which  was  needed. 

No  one  could  be  prevailed  upon  to  execute  so  danger 
ous  a  service.  Averse  to  return  without  performing  his 
commission,  he  concluded  to  examine  for  himself.  Thot- 
ford's  removal  to  this  street  was  known  to  him ;  but, 
being  ignorant  of  my  purpose,  he  had  not  mentioned 
this  circumstance  to  me,  during  our  last  conversation. 

I  was  sensible  of  the  danger  which  Hadwin  had  in 
curred  by  entering  the  city.  Perhaps  my  knowledge  of 
the  inexpressible  importance  of  his  life  to  the  happiness 
of  his  daughters  made  me  aggravate  his  danger.  I 
knew  that  the  longer  he  lingered  in  this  tainted  air,  the 
hazard  was  increased.  A  moment's  delay  was  unneces 
sary.  Neither  Wallace  nor  myself  were  capable  of 
being  benefited  by  his  presence. 

I  mentioned  the  death  of  his  nephew  as  a  reason  for 
hastening  his  departure.  I  urged  him  in  the  most  vehe 
ment  terms  to  remount  his  horse  and  to  fly;  I  endea 
voured  to  preclude  all  inquiries  respecting  myself  or 
Wallace;  promising  to  follow  him  immediately,  and  an 
swer  all  his  questions  at  Malverton.  My  importunities 
were  enforced  by  his  own  fears,  and,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  he  rode  away. 

The  emotions  produced  by  this  incident  were,  in  the 
present  critical  state  of  my  frame,  eminently  hurtful. 
My  morbid  indications  suddenly  returned.  I  had  reason 
to  ascribe  my  condition  to  my  visit  to  the  chamber  of 
Maravegli;  but  this  and  its  consequences  to  myself,  as 
well  as  the  journey  of  Hadwin,  were  the  fruits  of  my 
unhappy  secrecy. 

I  had  always  been  accustomed  to  perform  my  journeys 
on  foot.  This,  on  ordinary  occasions,  was  the  preferable 
method,  but  now  I  ought  to  have  adopted  the  easiest  and 
swiftest  means.  If  Hadwin  had  been  acquainted  with 
my  purpose  he  would  not  only  have  approved,  but  would 
have  allowed  me,  the  use  of  a  horse.  These  reflections 
were  rendered  less  pungent  by  the  recollection  that  my 


164  ARTHUR  MERVYN. 

motives  were  benevolent,  and  that  I  had  endeavoured 
the  benefit  of  others  by  means  which  appeared  to  me 
most  suitable. 

Meanwhile,  how  was  I  to  proceed  ?  What  hindered 
me  from  pursuing  the  footsteps  of  Hadwin  with  all  the 
expedition  which  my  uneasiness,  of  brain  and  stomach, 
would  allow  ?  I  conceived  that  to  leave  any  thing  un 
done,  with  regard  to  Wallace,  would  be  absurd.  His 
property  might  be  put  under  the  care  of  my  new  friend. 
But  how  was  it  to  be  distinguished  from  the  property 
of  others?  It  was,  probably,  contained  in  trunks,  which 
were  designated  by  some  label  or  mark.  I  was  unac 
quainted  with  his  chamber,  but,  by  passing  from  one  to 
the  other,  I  might  finally  discover  it.  Some  token, 
directing  my  footsteps,  might  occur,  though  at  present 
unforeseen. 

Actuated  by  these  considerations,  I  once  more  entered 
Thetford's  habitation.  I  regretted  that  I  had  not  pro 
cured  the  counsel  or  attendance  of  my  new  friend;  but 
some  engagements,  the  nature  of  which  he  did  not  ex 
plain,  occasioned  him  to  leave  me  as  soon  as  breakfast 
was  finished. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

I  WANDERED  over  this  deserted  mansion,  in  a  con 
siderable  degree,  at  random.  Effluvia  of  a  pestilential 
nature  assailed  me  from  every  corner.  In  the  front  room 
of  the  second  story,  I  imagined  that  I  discovered  vestiges 
of  that  catastrophe  which  the  past  night  had  produced. 
The  bed  appeared  as  if  .some  one  had  recently  been 
dragged  from  it.  The  sheets  were  tinged  with  yellow, 
and  with  that  substance  which  is  said  to  be  characteristic 
of  this  disease,  the  gangrenous  or  black  vomit.  The 
floor  exhibited  similar  stains. 

There  are  many  who  will  regard  my  conduct  as  the 
last  refinement  of  temerity,  or  of  heroism.  Nothing, 
indeed,  more  perplexes  me  than  a  review  of  my  own 
conduct.  Not,  indeed,  that  death  is  an  object  always  to 
be  dreaded,  or  that  my  motive  did  not  justify  my  actions; 
but  of  all  dangers,  those  allied  to  pestilence,  by  being 
mysterious  and  unseen,  are  the  most  formidable.  To 
disarm  them  of  their  terrors  requires  the  longest  fami 
liarity.  Nurses  and  physicians  soonest  become  intrepid 
or  indifferent ;  but  the  rest  of  mankind  recoil  from  the 
scene  with  unconquerable  loathing. 

I  was  sustained,  not  by  confidence  of  safety,  and  a 
belief  of  exemption  from  this  malady,  or  by  the  in 
fluence  of  habit,  which  inures  us  to  all  that  is  detestable 
or  perilous,  but  by  a  belief  that  this  was  as  eligible  an 
avenue  to  death  as  any  other;  and  that  life  is  a  trivial 
sacrifice  in  the  cause  of  duty. 

I  passed  from  one  room  to  the  other.  A  portmanteau, 
marked  with  the  initials  of  Wallace's  name,  at  length 
attracted  my  notice.  From  this  circumstance  I  inferred 
that  this  apartment  had  been  occupied  by  him.  The 

165 


1 66  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

room  was  neatly  arranged,  and  appeared  as  if  no  one 
had  lately  used  it.  There  were  trunks  and  drawers. 
That  which  I  have  mentioned  was  the  only  one  that  bore 
marks  of  Wallace's  ownership.  This  I  lifted  in  my  arms 
with  a.  view  to  remove  it  to  Medlicote's  house. 

At  that  moment,  methought  I  heard  a  footstep  slowly 
and  lingeringly  ascending  the  stair.  I  was  disconcerted 
at  this  incident.  The  footstep  had  in  it  a  ghost-like 
solemnity  and  tardiness.  This  phantom  vanished  in  a 
moment,  and  yielded  place  to  more  humble  conjectures. 
A  human  being  approached,  whose  office  and  commission 
were  inscrutable.  That  we  were  strangers  to  each  other 
was  easily  imagined ;  but  how  would  my  appearance,  in 
this  remote  chamber,  and  loade'd  with  another's  property, 
be  interpreted  ?  Did  he  enter  the  house  after  me,  or  was 
he  the  tenant  of  some  chamber  hitherto  unvisited ;  whom 
my  entrance  had  awakened  from  his  trance  and  called 
from  his  couch? 

In  the  confusion  of  my  mind,  I  still  held  my  burden 
uplifted.  To  have  placed  it  on  the  floor,  and  encountered 
this  visitant,  without  this  equivocal  token  about  me,  was 
the  obvious  proceeding.  Indeed,  time  only  could  decide 
whether  these  footsteps  tended  to  this,  or  to  some  other 
apartment. 

My  doubts  were  quickly  dispelled.  The  door  opened, 
and  a  figure  glided  in.  The  portmanteau  dropped  from 
my  arms,  and  my  heart's  blood  was  chilled.  If  an  ap 
parition  of  the  dead  were  possible,  (and  that  possibility 
I  could  not  deny,)  this  was  such  an  apparition.  A  hue, 
yellowish  and  livid ;  bones,  uncovered  with  flesh ;  eyes, 
ghastly,  hollow,  woe-begone,  and  fixed  in  an  agony  of 
wonder  upon  me ;  and  locks,  matted  and  negligent,  con 
stituted  the  image  which  I  now  beheld.  My  belief  of 
somewhat  preternatural  in  this  appearance  was  confirmed 
by  recollection  of  resemblances  between  these  features 
and  those  of  one  who  was  dead.  In  this  shape  and 
visage,  shadowy  and  death-like  as  they  were,  the  linea 
ments  of  Wallace,  of  him  who  had  misled  my  rustic  sim 
plicity  on  my  first  visit  to  this  city,  and  whose  death  I 
had  conceived  to  be  incontestably  ascertained,  were 
forcibly  recognised. 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR   1793.  1 67 

This  recognition,  which  at  first  alarmed  ray  supersti 
tion,  speedily  led  to  more  rational  inferences.  Wallace 
had  been  dragged  to  the  hospital.  Nothing  was  less  to 
be  suspected  than  that  he  would  return  alive  from  that 
hideous  receptacle,  but  this  was  by  no  means  impossible. 
The  figure  that  stood  before  me  had  just  risen  from  the 
bed  of  sickness,  and  from  the  brink  of  the  grave.  The 
crisis  of  his  malady  had  passed,  and  he  was  once  more 
entitled  to  be  ranked  among  the  living. 

This  event,  and  the  consequences  which  my  imagina 
tion  connected  with  it,  filled  me  with  the  liveliest  joy.  I 
thought  not  of  his  ignorance  of  the  causes  of  my  satis 
faction,  of  the  doubts  to  which  the  circumstances  of  our 
interview  would  give  birth,  respecting  the  integrity  of  my 
purpose.  I  forgot  the  artifices  by  which  I  had  formerly 
been  betrayed,  and  the  embarrassments  which  a  meeting 
with  the  victim  of  his  artifices  would  excite  in  him ;  I 
thought  only  of  the  happiness  which  his  recovery  would 
confer  upon  his  uncle  and  his  cousins. 

I  advanced  towards  him  with  an  air  of  congratulation, 
and  offered  him  my  hand.  He  shrunk  back,  and  ex 
claimed,  in  a  feeble  voice,  "  Who  are  you  ?  What  busi 
ness  have  you  here?" 

"  I  am  the  friend  of  Wallace,  if  he  will  allow  me  to 
be  so.  I  am  a  messenger  from  your  uncle  and  cousins 
at  Malverton.  I  came  to  know  the  cause  of  your  silence, 
and  to  afford  you  any  assistance  in  my  power." 

He  continued  to  regard  me  with  an  air  of  suspicion 
and  doubt.  These  I  endeavoured  to  remove  by  explain 
ing  the  motives  that  led  me  hither.  It  was  with  diffi 
culty  that  he  seemed  to  credit  my  representations.  When 
thoroughly  convinced  of  the  truth  of  my  assertions,  he 
inquired  with  great  anxiety  and  tenderness  concerning 
his  relations ;  and  expressed  his  hope  that  they  were 
ignorant  of  what  had  befallen  him. 

I  could  not  encourage  his  hopes.  I  regretted  my  own 
precipitation  in  adopting  the  belief  of  his  death.  This 
belief  had  been  uttered  with  confidence,  and  without 
stating  my  reasons  for  embracing  it,  to  Mr.  Hadwin. 
These  tidings  would  be  borne  to  his  daughters,  and  their 


1 68  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

grief  would  be  exasperated  to  a  deplorable  and  perhaps 
to  a  fatal  degree. 

There  was  but  one  method  of  repairing  or  eluding  this 
mischief.  Intelligence  ought  to  be  conveyed  to  them  of 
his  recovery.  But  where  was  the  messenger  to  be  found  ? 
No  one's  attention  could  be  found  disengaged  from  his 
own  concerns.  Those  who  were  able  or  willing  to  leave 
the  city  had  sufficient  motives  for  departure,  in  relation 
to  themselves.  If  vehicle  or  horse  were  procurable  for 
money,  ought  it  not  to  be  secured  for  the  use  of  Wallace 
himself,  whose  health  required  the  easiest  and  speediest 
conveyance  from  this  theatre  of  death? 

My  companion  was  powerless  in  mind  as  in  limbs.  He 
seemed  unable  to  consult  upon  the  means  of  escaping 
from  the  inconveniences  by  which  he  was  surrounded. 
As  soon  as  sufficient  strength  was  regained,  he  had  left 
the  hospital.  To  repair  to  Mahcrton  was  the  measure 
which  prudence  obviously  dictated ;  but  he  was  hopeless 
of  effecting  it.  The  city  was  close  at  hand ;  this  was 
his  usual  home ;  and  hither  his  tottering  and  almost  in 
voluntary  steps  conducted  him. 

He  listened  to  my  representations  and  counsels,  and 
acknowledged  their  propriety.  He  put  himself  under 
my  protection  and  guidance,  aud  promised  to  conform 
implicitly  to  my  directions.  His  strength  had  sufficed 
to  bring  him  thus  far,  but  was  now  utterly  exhausted. 
The  task  of  searching  for  a  carriage  and  horse  devolved 
upon  me. 

In  effecting  this  purpose,  I  was  obliged  to  rely  upon 
my  own  ingenuity  and  diligence.  Wallace,  though  so 
long  a  resident  in  the  city,  knew  not  to  whom  I  could 
apply,  or  by  whom  carriages  were  let  to  hire.  My  own 
reflections  taught  me,  that  this  accommodation  was  most 
likely  to  be  furnished  by  innkeepers,  or  that  some  of 
those  might  at  least  inform  me  of  the  best  measures  to 
be  taken.  I  resolved  to  set  out  immediately  on  this 
search.  Meanwhile,  Wallace  was  persuaded  to  take 
refuge  in  Medlicote's  apartments ;  and  to  make,  by  the 
assistance  of  Austin,  the  necessary  preparation  for  hia 
journey. 

The  morning  had  now  advanced.     The  rays  of  a  sul- 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR   1793.  169 

try  sun  had  a  sickening  and  enfeebling  influence  beyond 
any  which  I  had  ever  experienced.  The  drought  of  un 
usual  duration  had  bereft  the  air  and  the  earth  of  every 
particle  of  moisture.  The  element  which  I  breathed 
appeared  to  have  stagnated  into  noxiousness  and  putre 
faction.  I  was  astonished  at  observing  the  enormous 
diminution  of  my  strength.  My  brows  were  heavy,  my 
intellects  benumbed,  my  sinews  enfeebled,  and  my  sensa 
tions  universally  unquiet. 

These  prognostics  were  easily  interpreted.  What  I 
chiefly  dreaded  was,  that  they  would  disable  me  from 
executing  the  task  which  I  had  undertaken.  I  sum 
moned  up  all  my  resolution,  and  cherished  a  disdain  of 
yielding  to  this  ignoble  destiny.  I  reflected  that  the 
source  of  all  energy,  and  even  of  life,  is  seated  in 
thought ;  that  nothing  is  arduous  to  human  efforts  ;  that 
the  external  frame  will  seldom  languish,  while  actuated 
by  an  unconquerable  soul. 

I  fought  against  my  dreary  feelings,  which  pulled  me 
to  the  earth.  I  quickened  my  pace,  raised  my  droop 
ing  eyelids,  and  hummed  a  cheerful  and  favourite  air. 
For  ;ill  that  I  accomplished  during  this  day,  I  believe 
myself  indebted  to  the  strenuousness  and  ardour  of  my 
resolutions. 

I  went  from  one  tavern  to  another.  One  was  de 
serted  ;  in  another  the  people  were  sick,  and  their 
attendants  refused  to  hearken  to  my  inquiries  or  offers ; 
at  a  third,  their  horses  were  engaged.  I  was  deter 
mined  to  prosecute  my  search  as  long  as  an  inn  or  a 
livery-stable  remained  unexamined,  and  my  strength 
would  permit. 

To  detail  the  events  of  this  expedition,  the  arguments 
and  supplications  which  I  used  to  overcome  the  dictates 
of  avarice  and  fear,  the  fluctuation  of  my  hopes  and  my 
incessant  disappointments,  would  be  useless.  Having 
exhausted  all  my  expedients  ineffectually,  I  was  com 
pelled  to  turn  my  weary  steps  once  more  to  Mcdlicote's 
lodgings. 

My  meditations  were  deeply  engaged  by  the  present 
circumstances  of  my  situation.  Since  the  means  which 
were  first  suggested  were  impracticable,  I  endeavoured 


I7O  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

to  investigate  others.  Wallace's  debility  made  it  impos 
sible  for  him  to  perform  this  journey  on  foot ;  but  would 
not  his  strength  and  his  resolution  suffice  to  carry  him 
beyond  Schuylkill  ?  A  carriage  or  horse,  though  not 
to  be  obtained  in  the  city,  could,  without  difficulty,  be 
procured  in  the  country.  Every  farmer  had  beasts  for 
burden  and  draught.  One  of  these  might  be  hired,  at 
no  immoderate  expense,  for  half  a  day. 

This  project  appeared  so  practicable  and  so  specious, 
that  I  deeply  regretted  the  time  and  the  efforts  which 
had  already  been  so  fruitlessly  expended.  If  my  pro 
ject,  however,  had  been  mischievous,  to  review  it  with 
regret  was  only  to  prolong  and  to  multiply  its  mischiefs. 
I  trusted  that  time  and  strength  would  not  be  wanting 
to  the  execution  of  this  new  design. 

On  entering  Medlicotc's  house,  my  looks,  which,  in 
spite  of  my  languors,  were  sprightly  and  confident,  flat 
tered  Wallace  with  the  belief  that  my  exertions  had 
succeeded.  When  acquainted  with  their  failure,  he 
sunk  as  quickly  into  hopelessness.  My  new  expedient 
was  heard  by  him  with  no  marks  of  satisfaction.  It  was 
impossible,  he  said,  to  move  from  this  spot  by  his  own 
strength.  All  his  powers  were  exhausted  by  his  walk 
from  Bush  Hill. 

I  endeavoured,  by  arguments  and  railleries,  to  revive 
his  courage.  The  pure  air  of  the  country  would  exhila 
rate  him  into  new  life.  He  might  stop  at  every  fifty 
yards,  and  rest  upon  the  green  sod.  If  overtaken  by 
the  night,  we  would  procure  a  lodging,  by  address  and 
importunity ;  but,  if  every  door  should  be  shut  against 
us,  we  should  at  least  enjoy  the  shelter  of  some  barn, 
and  might  diet  wholesomely  upon  the  new-laid  eggs  that 
we  should  find  there.  The  worst  treatment  we  could 
meet  with  was  better  than  continuance  in  the  city. 

These  remonstrances  had  some  influence,  and  he  at 
length  consented  to  put  his  ability  to  the  test.  First, 
however,  it  was  necessary  to  invigorate  himself  by  a  few 
hours'  rest.  To  this,  though  with  infinite  reluctance,  I 
consented. 

This  interval  allowed  him  to  reflect  upon  the  past,  and 
to  inquire  into  the  fate  of  Thetford  and  his  family.  The 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR   IJ93-  l?l 

intelligence  which  Medlicote  had  enabled  me  to  afford 
him  was  heard  with  more  satisfaction  than  regret.  The 
ingratitude  and  cruelty  with  which  he  had  been  treated 
seemed  to  have  extinguished  every  sentiment  but  hatred 
and  vengeance.  I  was  willing  to  profit  by  this  interval 
to  know  more  of  Thetford  than  I  already  possessed.  I 
inquired  why  Wallace  had  so  perversely  neglected  the 
advice  of  his  uncle  and  cousin,  and  persisted  to  brave  so 
many  dangers  when  flight  was  so  easy. 

"I  cannot  justify  my  conduct,"  answered  he.  "It 
was  in  the  highest  degree  thoughtless  and  perverse.  I 
was  confident  and  unconcerned  as  long  as  our  neighbour 
hood  was  free  from  disease,  and  as  long  as  I  forbore  any 
communication  with  the  sick  ;  yet  I  should  have  with 
drawn  to  Malverton,  merely  to  gratify  my  friends,  if 
Thetford  had  not  used  the  most  powerful  arguments  to 
detain  me.  He  laboured  to  extenuate  the  danger. 

'"Why  not  stay,'  said  he,  'as  long  as  I  and  my  family 
stay  ?  Do  you  think  that  we  would  linger  here,  if  the 
danger  were  imminent  ?  As  soon  as  it  becomes  so,  we 
will  fly.  You  know  that  we  have  a  country-house  pre 
pared  for  our  reception.  When  we  go,  you  shall  accom 
pany  us.  Your  services  at  this  time  are  indispensable 
to  my  affairs.  If  you  will  not  desert  me,  your  salary 
next  year  shall  be  double ;  and  that  will  enable  you  to 
marry  your  cousin  immediately.  Nothing  is  more  im 
probable  than  that  any  of  us  should  be  sick  ;  but,  if  this 
should  happen  to  you,  I  plight  my  honour  that  you  shall 
be  carefully  and  faithfully  attended.' 

"These  assurances  were  solemn  and  generous.  To 
make  Susan  Iladwin  my  wife  was  the  scope  of  all  my 
wishes  and  labours.  By  staying,  I  should  hasten  this 
desirable  event,  and  incur  little  hazard.  By  going,  I 
should  alienate  the  affections  of  Thetford ;  by  whom,  it 
is  but  justice  to  acknowledge,  that  I  had  hitherto  been 
treated  with  unexampled  generosity  and  kindness ;  and 
blast  all  the  schemes  I  had  formed  for  rising  into  wealth. 

"  My  resolution  was  by  no  means  steadfast.  As  often 
as  a  letter  from  Malverton  arrived,  I  felt  myself  dis 
posed  to  hasten  away  ;  but  this  inclination  was  combated 
by  new  arguments  and  new  entreaties  of  Thetford. 


1/2  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

"In  this  state  of  suspense,  the  girl  by  whom  Mrs. 
Thctford's  infant  was  nursed  fell  sick.  She  was  an  ex 
cellent  creature,  and  merited  better  treatment  than  she 
received.  Like  me,  she  resisted  the  persuasions  of  her 
friends,  but  her  motives  for  remaining  were  disinterested 
and  heroic. 

"  No  sooner  did  her  indisposition  appear,  than  she  was 
hurried  to  the  hospital.  I  saw  that  no  reliance  could  be 
placed  upon  the  assurances  of  Thetford.  Every  con 
sideration  gave  way  to  his  fear  of  death.  After  the 
girl's  departure,  though  he  knew  that  she  was  led  by  his 
means  to  execution,  yet  he  consoled  himself  by  repeat 
ing  and  believing  her  assertions,  that  her  disease  was 
not  the  fever. 

"I  was  now  greatly  alarmed  for  my  own  safety.  I 
was  determined  to  encounter  his  anger  and  repel  his 
persuasions ;  and  to  depart  with  the  market-man  next 
morning.  That  night,  however,  I  was  seized  with  a 
violent  fever.  I  knew  in  what  manner  patients  were 
treated  at  the  hospital,  and  removal  thither  was  to  the 
last  degree  abhorred. 

"The  morning  arrived,  and  my  situation  was  dis 
covered.  At  the  first  intimation,  Thetford  i-ushed  out 
of  the  house,  and  refused  to  re-enter  it  till  I  was  re 
moved.  I  knew  not  my  fate,  till  three  ruffians  made 
their  appearance  at  my  bedside,  and  communicated 
their  commission. 

"1  called  on  the  name  of  Thetford  and  his  wife.  I 
entreated  a  moment's  delay,  till  I  had  seen  these  per 
sons,  and  endeavoured  to  procure  a  respite  from  my 
sentence.  They  were  deaf  to  my  entreaties,  and  pre 
pared  to  execute  their  office  by  force.  I  was  delirious 
with  rage  and  terror.  1  heaped  the  bitterest  execra 
tions  on  my  murderer ;  and  by  turns,  invoked  the  com 
passion  of,  and  poured  a  torrent  of  reproaches  on,  the 
wretches  whom  he  had  selected  for  his  ministers.  My 
struggles  and  outcries  were  vain. 

"  I  have  no  perfect  recollection  of  what  passed  till  my 
arrival  at  the  hospital.  My  passions  combined  with  my 
disease  to  make  me  frantic  and  wild.  In  a  state  like 
\nine,  the  slightest  motion  could  not  be  endured  without 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  173 

agony.  What  then  must  I  have  felt,  scorched  and 
dazzled  by  the  sun,  sustained  by  hard  boards,  and  borne 
for  miles  over  a  rugged  pavement  ? 

"I  cannot  make  you  comprehend  the  anguish  of  my 
feelings.  To  be  disjointed  and  torn  piecemeal  by  the 
rack  was  a  torment  inexpressibly  inferior  to  this. 
Nothing  excites  my  wonder  but  that  I  did  not  expire 
before  the  cart  had  moved  three  paces. 

"I  knew  not  how,  or  by  whom,  I  was  moved  from 
this  vehicle.  Insensibility  came  at  length  to  my  relief. 
After  a  time  I  opened  my  eyes,  and  slowly  gained  some 
knowledge  of  my  situation.  I  lay  upon  a  mattress, 
whose  condition  proved  that  a  half-decayed  corpse  had 
recently  been  dragged  from  it.  The  room  was  large, 
but  it  was  covered  with  beds  like  my  own.  Between 
each,  there  was  scarcely  the  interval  of  three  feet. 
Each  sustained  a  wretch,  whose  groans  and  distortions 
bespoke  the  desperateness  of  his  condition. 

"The  atmosphere  was  loaded  by  mortal  stenches.  A 
vapour,  suffocating  and  malignant,  scarcely  allowed  me 
to  breathe.  No  suitable  receptacle  was  provided  for 
the  evacuations  produced  by  medicine  or  disease.  My 
nearest  neighbour  was  struggling  with  death,  and  rny 
bed,  casually  extended,  was  moist  with  the  detestable 
matter  which  had  flowed  from  his  stomach. 

"You  will  scarcely  believe  that,  in  this  scene  of 
horrors,  the  sound  of  laughter  should  be  overheard. 
While  the  upper  rooms  of  this  building  are  filled  with 
the  sick  and  the  dying,  the  lower  apartments  are  the 
scene  of  carousals  and  mirth.  The  wretches  who  are 
hired,  at  enormous  wages,  to  tend  the  sick  and  convey 
away  the  dead,  neglect  their  duty,  and  consume  the  cor 
dials  which  are  pnmded  for  the  patients,  in  debauchery 
and  riot. 

"A  female  visage,  bloated  with  malignity  and  drunken 
ness,  occasionally  looked  in.  Dying  eyes  were  cast  upon 
her,  invoking  the  boon,  perhaps,  of  a  drop  of  cold  water, 
or  her  assistance  to  change  a  posture  which  compelled 
him  to  behold  the  ghastly  writhings  or  deathful  smile  of 
his  neighbour. 

"  The  visitant  had  left  the  banquet  for  a  moment,  only 


174  ARTHUR  MERVYN, 

to  see  who  was  dead.  If  she  entered  the  room,  blinking 
eyes  and  reeling  steps  showed  her  to  be  totally  unquali 
fied  for  ministering  the  aid  that  was  needed.  Presently 
she  disappeared,  and  others  ascended  the  staircase,  a 
coffin  was  deposited  at  the  door,  the  wretch,  whose  heart 
still  quivered,  was  seized  by  rude  hands,  and  dragged 
along  the  floor  into  the  passage. 

"  Oh !  how  poor  are  the  conceptions  which  are  formed, 
by  the  fortunate  few,  of  the  sufferings  to  which  millions 
of  their  fellow-beings  are  condemned.  This  misery  was 
more  frightful,  because  it  was  seen  to  flow  from  the  de 
pravity  of  the  attendants.  My  own  eyes  only  would 
make  me  credit  the  existence  of  wickedness  so  enormous. 
No  wonder  that  to  die  in  garrets,  and  cellars,  and  stables, 
unvisited  and  unknown,  had,  by  so  many,  been  preferred 
to  being  brought  hither. 

"A  physician  cast  an  eye  upon  my  state.  He  gave 
some  directions  to  the  person  who  attended  him.  I  did 
not  comprehend  them,  they  were  never  executed  by  the 
nurses,  and,  if  the  attempt  had  been  made,  I  should  pro 
bably  have  refused  to  receive  what  was  offered.  Re 
covery  was  equally  beyond  my  expectations  and  my 
wishes.  The  scene  which  was  hourly  displayed  before 
me,  the  entrance  of  the  sick,  most  of  whom  perished  in 
a  few  hours,  and  their  departure  to  the  graves  prepared 
for  them,  reminded  me  of  the  fate  to  which  I,  also,  was 
reserved. 

"Three  days  passed  away,  in  which  every  hour  was 
expected  to  be  the  last.  That,  amidst  an  atmosphere 
so  contagious  and  deadly,  amidst  causes  of  destruction 
hourly  accumulating,  I  should  yet  survive,  appears  to 
me  nothing  less  than  miraculous.  That  of  so  many  con 
ducted  to  this  house  the  only  one  who  passed  out  of  it 
alive  should  be  myself  almost  surpasses  my  belief. 

"Some  inexplicable  principle  rendered  harmless  those 
potent  enemies  of  human  life.  My  fever  subsided  and 
vanished.  My  strength  was  revived,  and  the  first  use 
that  I  made  of  my  limbs  was  to  bear  me  far  from  the 
contemplation  and  sufferance  of  those  evils." 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

HAVING  gratified  my  curiosity  in  this  respect,  Wallace 
proceeded  to  remind  me  of  the  circumstances  of  our  first 
interview.  He  had  entertained  doubts  whether  I  was 
the  person  whom  he  had  met  at  Lesher's.  I  acknowledged 
myself  to  be  the  same,  and  inquired,  in  my  turn,  into 
the  motives  of  his  conduct  on  that  occasion. 

"I  confess,"  said  he,  with  some  hesitation,  "I  meant 
only  to  sport  with  your  simplicity  and  ignorance.  You 
must  not  imagine,  however,  that  my  stratagem  was  deep- 
laid  and  deliberately  executed.  My  professions  at  the 
tavern  were  sincere.  I  meant  not  to  injure  but  to  serve 
you.  It  was  not  till  I  reached  the  head  of  the  staircase 
that  the  mischievous  contrivance  occurred.  I  foresaw 
nothing,  at  the  moment,  but  ludicrous  mistakes  and 
embarrassment.  The  scheme  was  executed  almost  at 
the  very  moment  it  occurred. 

"  After  I  had  returned  to  the  parlour,  Thetford  charged 
me  with  the  delivery  of  a  message  in  a  distant  quarter 
of  the  city.  It  was  not  till  I  had  performed  this  com 
mission,  arid  had  set  out  on  my  return,  that  I  fully  re 
volved  the  consequences  likely  to  flow  from  my  project. 

"That  Thetford  and  his  wife  would  detect  you  in  their 
bedchamber  was  unquestionable.  Perhaps,  weary  of 
my  long  delay,  you  would  have  fairly  undressed  and  gone 
to  bed.  The  married  couple  would  have  made  prepara 
tion  to  follow  you,  and,  when  the  curtain  was  undrawn, 
would  discover  a  robust  youth,  fast  asleep,  in  their  place. 
These  images,  which  had  just  before  excited  my  laughter, 
now  produced  a  very  different  emotion.  I  dreaded  some 
fatal  catastrophe  from  the  fiery  passions  of  Thetford. 
In  the  first  transports  of  his  fury  he  might  pistol  you, 
or,  at  least,  might  command  you  to  be  dragged  to  prison, 

175 


176  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

"I  now  heartily  repented  of  my  jest,  and  hastened 
home,  that  I  might  prevent,  as  far  as  possible,  the  evil 
effects  that  might  flow  from  it.  The  acknowledgment 
of  my  own  agency  in  this  affair  would,  at  least,  transfer 
Thetford's  indignation  to  myself,  to  whom  it  was  equitably 
due. 

"  The  married  couple  had  retired  to  their  chamber,  and 
no  alarm  or  confusion  had  followed.  This  was  an  in 
explicable  circumstance.  I  waited  with  impatience  till 
the  morning  should  furnish  a  solution  of  the  difficulty. 
The  morning  arrived.  A  strange  event  had,  indeed,  taken 
place  in  their  bedchamber.  They  found  an  infant 
asleep  in  their  bed.  Thetford  had  been  roused  twice  in 
the  night,  once  by  a  noise  in  the  closet,  and  afterwards 
by  a  noise  at  the  door. 

"  Some  connection  between  these  sounds  and  the  found 
ling  was  naturally  suspected.  In  the  morning  the  closet 
was  examined,  and  a  coarse  pair  of  shoes  was  found  on 
the  floor.  The  chamber  door,  which  Thetford  had  locked 
in  the  evening,  was  discovered  to  be  open,  as  likewise  a 
window  in  the  kitchen. 

"These  appearances  were  a  source  of  wonder  and 
doubt  to  others,  but  were  perfectly  intelligible  to  me.  I 
rejoiced  that  my  stratagem  had  no  more  dangerous  con 
sequence,  and  admired  the  ingenuity  and  perseverance 
with  which  you  had  extricated  yourself  from  so  critical 
a  state." 

This  narrative  was  only  the  verification  of  my  own 
guesses.  Its  facts  were  quickly  supplanted  in  my  thoughts 
by  the  disastrous  picture  he  had  drawn  of  the  state  of 
the  hospital.  I  was  confounded  and  shocked  by  the 
magnitude  of  this  evil.  The  cause  of  it  was  obvious. 
The  wretches  whom  money  could  purchase  were,  of 
course,  licentious  and  unprincipled.  Superintended  and 
controlled,  they  might  be  useful  instruments;  but  that 
superintendence  could  not  be  bought. 

What  qualities  were  requisite  in  the  governor  of  such 
an  institution?  He  must  have  zeal,  diligence,  and 
perseverance.  He  must  act  from  lofty  and  pure  motives. 
lie  must  be  mild  and  firm,  intrepid  and  compliant.  One 
perfectly  qualified  for  the  office  it  is  desirable,  but  not 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793. 

possible,  to  find.  A  dispassionate  and  honest  zeal  in 
the  cause  of  duty  and  humanity  may  he  of  eminent 
utility.  Am  I  not  endowed  with  this  zeal  ?  Cannot  my 
feehle  efforts  obviate  some  portion  of  this  evil? 

No  one  has  hitherto  claimed  this  disgustful  and  peril 
ous  situation.  My  powers  and  discernment  are  small, 
hut  if  they  he  honestly  exerted  they  cannot  fail  to  be 
somewhat  beneficial. 

The  impulse  produced  by  these  reflections  was  to  has 
ten  to  the  City  Hall,  and  make  known  my  wishes.  This 
impulse  was  controlled  by  recollections  of  my  own  indis 
position,  and  of  the  state  of  Wallace.  To  deliver  this 
youth  to  his  friends  was  the  strongest  obligation.  When 
this  was  discharged,  I  might  return  to  the  city,  and  acquit 
myself  of  more  comprehensive  duties. 

Wallace  had  now  enjoyed  a  few  hours'  rest,  and  was 
persuaded  to  begin  the  journey.  It  was  now  noonday, 
and  the  sun  darted  insupportable  rays.  Wallace  was 
more  sensible  than  I  of  their  unwholesome  influence.  We 
had  not  reached  the  suburbs,  when  his  strength  was 
wholly  exhausted,  and,  had  I  not  supported  him,  he 
would  have  sunk  upon  the  pavement. 

My  limbs  were  scarcely  less  weak,  but  my  resolutions 
were  much  more  strenuous  than  his.  I  made  light  of  his 
indisposition,  and  endeavoured  to  persuade  him  that  his 
vigour  would  return  in  proportion  to  his  distance  from 
the  city.  The  moment  we  should  reach  a  shade,  a  short 
respite  would  restore  us  to  health  and  cheerfulness. 

Nothing  could  revive  his  courage  or  induce  him  to  go 
on.  To  return  or  to  proceed  was  equally  impracticable. 
But,  should  he  be  able  to  return,  where  should  he  find  a 
retreat?  The  danger  of  relapse  was  imminent;  his  own 
chamber  at  Thetford's  was  unoccupied.  If  he  could  re 
gain  this  house,  might  I  not  procure  him  a  physician  and 
perform  for  him  the  part  of  nurse  ? 

His  present  situation  was  critical  and  mournful.  To 
remain  in  the  street,  exposed  to  the  malignant  fervours 
of  the  sun,  was  not  to  be  endured.  To  carry  him  in  my 
arms  exceeded  my  strength.  Should  I  not  cluim  the 
assistance  of  the  first  passenger  that  appeared  ? 

At  that  moment  a  horse  and  chaise  passed  us.  The 
12 


178  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OK, 

vehicle  proceeded  at  a  quick  pace.  He  that  rode  in  it 
might  afford  us  the  succour  that  we  needed.  He  might 
be  persuaded  to  deviate  from  his  course  and  convey  the 
helpless  Wallace  to  the  house  we  had  just  left. 

This  thought  instantly  impelled  me  fonvard.  Feeble 
as  I  was,  I  even  ran  with  speed,  in  order  to  overtake  the 
vehicle.  My  purpose  was  effected  with  the  utmost  diffi 
culty.  It  fortunately  happened  that  the  carriage  con 
tained  but  one  person,  who  stopped  at  my  request.  His 
countenance  and  guise  was  mild  and  encouraging. 

"  Good  friend,"  I  exclaimed,  "here  is  a  young  man  too 
indisposed  to  walk.  I  want  him  carried  to  his  lodgings. 
Will  you,  for  money  or  for  charity,  allow  him  a  place 
in  your  chaise,  and  set  him  down  where  I  shall  direct  ?" 
Observing  tokens  of  hesitation,  I  continued,  "  You  need 
have  no  fears  to  perform  this  office.  He  is  not  sick,  but 
merely  feeble.  I  will  not  ask  twenty  minutes,  and  you 
may  ask  what  reward  you  think  proper." 

Still  he  hesitated  to  comply.  His  business,  he  said, 
had  not  led  him  into  the  city.  He  merely  passed  along 
the  skirts  of  it,  whence  he  conceived  that  no  danger 
would  arise.  He  was  desirous  of  helping  the  unfortu 
nate;  but  he  could  not  think  of  risking  his  own  life  in 
the  cause  of  a  stranger,  when  he  had  a  wife  and  chil 
dren  depending  on  his  existence  and  exertions  for  bread. 
It  gave  him  pain  to  refuse,  but  he  thought  his  duty  to 
himself  and  to  others  required  that  he  should  not  hazard 
his  safety  by  compliance. 

This  plea  was  irresistible.  The  mildness  of  his  man 
ner  showed  that  he  might  have  been  overpowered  by 
persuasion  or  tempted  by  reward.  I  would  not  take 
advantage  of  his  tractability ;  but  should  have  declined 
his  assistance,  even  if  it  had  been  spontaneously  offered. 
I  turned  away  from  him  in  silence,  and  prepared  to  return 
to  the  spot  where  I  had  left  my  friend.  The  man  pre 
pared  to  resume  his  way. 

In  this  perplexity,  the  thought  occurred  to  me  that, 
since  this  person  was  going  into  the  country,  he  might, 
possibly,  consent  to  curry  Wallace  along  with  him.  I 
confided  greatly  in  the  salutary  influence  of  rural  airs. 
I  believed  that  debility  constituted  the  whole  of  his  com- 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  179 

plaint ;  that  continuance  in  the  city  might  occasion  his 
relapse,  or,  at  least,  procrastinate  his  restoration. 

I  once  more  addressed  myself  to  the  traveller,  and  in 
quired  in  what  direction  and  how  far  he  was  going.  To 
my  unspeakable  satisfaction,  his  answer  informed  me 
that  his  home  lay  beyond  Mr.  Iladwin's,  arid  that  this 
road  carried  him  directly  past  that  gentleman's  door. 
He  was  willing  to  receive  Wallace  into  his  chaise,  and 
to  leave  him  at  his  uncle's. 

This  joyous  and  auspicious  occurrence  surpassed  my 
fondest  hopes.  I  hurried  with  the  pleasing  tidings  to 
Wallace,  who  eagerly  consented  to  enter  the  carriage. 
I  thought  not  at  the  moment  of  myself,  or  how  far  the 
same  means  of  escaping  from  my  danger  might  be  used. 
The  stranger  could  not  be  anxious  on  my  account ;  and 
Wallace's  dejection  and  weakness  may  apologize  for  his 
not  soliciting  my  company,  or  expressing  his  fears  for 
my  safety.  He  was  no  sooner  seated,  than  the  traveller 
harried  away.  I  gazed  after  them,  motionless  and  mute, 
till  the  carriage,  turning  a  corner,  passed  beyond  my 
sight. 

I  had  now  leisure  to  revert  to  my  own  condition,  and 
to  ruminate  on  that  series  of  abrupt  and  diversified  events 
that  had  happened  during  the  few  hours  which  had  been 
passed  in  the  city:  the  end  of  my  coming  was  thus 
speedily  and  satisfactorily  accomplished.  My  hopes  and 
fears  had  rapidly  fluctuated;  but,  respecting  this  young 
man,  had  now  subsided  into  calm  and  propitious  cer 
tainty.  Before  the  decline  of  the  sun,  he  would  enter 
his  paternal  roof,  and  diifuse  ineffable  joy  throughout 
that  peaceful  and  chaste  asylum. 

This  contemplation,  though  rapturous  and  soothing, 
speedily  gave  way  to  reflections  on  the  conduct  which 
my  duty  required,  and  the  safe  departure  of  Wallace 
afforded  me  liberty,  to  pursue.  To  offer  myself  as  a 
superintendent  of  the  hospital  was  still  my  purpose.  The 
languors  of  my  frame  might  terminate  in  sickness,  but 
this  event  it  was  useless  to  anticipate.  The  lofty  site 
and  pure  airs  of  Bush  Hill  might  tend  to  dissipate  my 
languors  and  restore  me  to  health.  At  least  while  I  had 
power,  I  was  bound  to  exert  it  to  the  wisest  purposes. 


ISO  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

I  resolved  to  seek  the  City  Hull  immediately,  and,  for 
that  end,  crossed  the  intermediate  fields  which  separated 
Sassafras  from  Chestnut  Street. 

More  urgent  considerations  had  diverted  my  attention 
from  the  money  which  I  bore  about  me,  and  from  the 
image  of  the  desolate  lady  to  whom  it  belonged.  My 
intentions,  with  regard  to  her,  were  the  same  as  ever; 
but  now  it  occurred  to  me,  with  new  force,  that  my  death 
might  preclude  an  interview  between  us,  and  that  it  was 
prudent  to  dispose,  in  some  useful  way,  of  the  money 
which  would  otherwise  be  left  to  the  sport  of  chance. 

The  evils  which  had  befallen  this  city  were  obvious 
and  enormous.  Hunger  and  negligence  had  exasperated 
the  malignity  and  facilitated  the  progress  of  the  pesti 
lence.  Could  this  money  be  more  usefully  employed 
than  in  alleviating  these  evils  ?  During  my  life,  I  had 
no  power  over  it,  but  my  death  would  justify  me  in  pre 
scribing  the  course  which  it  should  take. 

How  was  this  course  to  be  pointed  out  ?  How  might 
I  place  it,  so  that  I  should  effect  my  intentions  without 
relinquishing  the  possession  during  my  life  ? 

These  thoughts  were  superseded  by  a  tide  of  new 
sensations.  The  weight  that  incommoded  my  brows  and 
my  stomach  was  suddenly  increased.  My  brain  was 
usurped  by  some  benumbing  power,  and  my  limbs  re 
fused  to  support  me.  My  pulsations  were  quickened, 
and  the  prevalence  of  fever  could  no  longer  be  doubted. 

Till  now,  I  had  entertained  a  faint  hope  that  my  indis 
position  would  vanish  of  itself.  This  hope  was  at  an 
end.  The  grave  was  before  me,  and  my  projects  of 
curiosity  or  benevolence  were  to  sink  into  oblivion.  I 
was  not  bereaved  of  the  powers  of  reflection.  The  con 
sequences  of  lying  in  the  road,  friendless  and  unpro 
tected,  were  sure.  The  first  passenger  would  notice  me, 
and  hasten  to  summon  one  of  those  carriages  which  are 
busy  night  and  day  in  transporting  its  victims  to  the 
hospital. 

This  fate  was,  beyond  all  others,  abhorrent  to  my 
imagination.  To  hide  me  under  some  roof,  where  my 
existence  would  be  unknown  and  unsuspected,  and  where 
I  might  perish  unmolested  and  in  quiet,  was  my  present 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  l8l 

wish.  Thetford's  or  Mcdlicote's  might  afford  me  such 
an  asylum,  if  it  were  possible  to  reach  it. 

I  made  the  most  strenuous  exertions ;  but  they  could 
not  carry  me  forward  more  than  a  hundred  paces.  Here 
I  rested  on  steps,  which,  on  looking  up,  I  perceived  to 
belong  to  Welbeck's  house. 

This  incident  was  unexpected.  It  led  my  reflections 
into  a  new  train.  To  go  farther,  in  the  present  condi 
tion  of  my  frame,  was  impossible.  I  was  well  acquainted 
with  this  dwelling.  All  its  avenues  were  closed.  Whe 
ther  it  had  remained  unoccupied  since  my  flight  from  it, 
I  could  not  decide.  It  was  evident  that,  at  present,  it 
was  without  inhabitants.  Possibly  it  might  have  con 
tinued  in  the  same  condition  in  which  Wei  beck  had  left 
it.  Beds  or  sofas  might  be  found,  on  Avhich  a  sick  man 
might  rest,  and  be  fearless  of  intrusion. 

This  inference  was  quickly  overturned  by  the  obvious 
supposition  that  every  avenue  was  bolted  and  locked. 
This,  however,  might  not  be  the  condition  of  the  bath 
house,  in  which  there  was  nothing  that  required  to  be 
guarded  with  unusual  precautions.  I  was  suffocated  by 
inward  and  scorched  by  external  heat ;  and  the  relief  of 
bathing  and  drinking  appeared  inestimable. 

The  value  of  this  prize,  in  addition  to  my  desire  to 
avoid  the  observation  of  passengers,  made  me  exert  all 
my  remnant  of  strength.  Repeated  efforts  at  length 
enabled  me  to  mount  the  wall ;  and  placed  me,  as  I  ima 
gined,  in  security.  I  swallowed  large  draughts  of  water 
as  soon  as  I  could  reach  the  well. 

The  effect  was,  for  a  time,  salutary  and  delicious.  My 
fervours  were  abated,  and  my  faculties  relieved  from  the 
weight  which  had  lately  oppressed  them.  My  present 
condition  was  unspeakably  more  advantageous  than  the 
former.  I  did  not  believe  that  it  could  be  improved,  till, 
casting  my  eye  vaguely  over  the  building,  I  happened 
to  observe  the  shutters  of  a  lower  window  partly  opened. 

Whether  this  was  occasioned  by  design  or  by  accident 
there  was  no  means  of  deciding.  Perhaps,  in  the  pre 
cipitation  of  the  latest  possessor,  this  window  had  been 
overlooked.  Perhaps  it  had  been  unclosed  by  violence, 
and  afforded  entrance  to  a  robber.  By  what  means 


1 82  ARTHUR  MERVYN. 

soever  it  had  happened,  it  undoubtedly  afforded  ingress 
to  me.  I  felt  no  scruple  in  profiting  by  this  cireumstance. 
My  purposes  were  not  dishonest.  I  should  not  injure  or 
purloin  any  thing.  It  was  laudable  to  seek  a  refuge  from 
the  well-meant  persecutions  of  those  who  governed  the 
city.  All  I  sought  was  the  privilege  of  dying  alone. 

Having  gotten  in  at  the  window,  I  could  not  but  re 
mark  that  the  furniture  and  its  arrangements  had  under 
gone  no  alteration  in  my  absence.  I  moved  softly  from 
one  apartment  to  another,  till  at  length  I  entered  that 
which  had  formerly  been  Welbeck's  bedchamber. 

The  bed  was  naked  of  covering.  The  cabinets  and 
closets  exhibited  their  fastenings  broken.  Their  con 
tents  were  gone.  Whether  these  appearances  had  been 
produced  by  midnight  robbers,  or  by  the  ministers  of 
law  and  the  rage  of  the  creditors  of  Welbeck,  was  a 
topic  of  fruitless  conjecture. 

My  design  was  now  effected.  This  chamber  should  be 
the  scene  of  my  disease  and  my  refuge  from  the  charita 
ble  cruelty  of  my  neighbours.  My  new  sensations  con 
jured  up  the  hope  that  my  indisposition  might  prove  a 
temporary  evil.  Instead  of  pestilential  or  malignant 
fever,  it  might  be  a  harmless  intermittent.  Time  would 
ascertain  its  true  nature ;  meanwhile,  I  would  turn  the 
carpet  into  a  coverlet,  supply  my  pitcher  with  water,  and 
administer  without  sparing,  and  without  fear,  that  remedy 
which  was  placed  within  my  reach. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

I  LAID  myself  on  the  bed  and  wrapped  my  limbs  in 
the  folds  of  the  carpet.  My  thoughts  were  restless  and 
perturbed.  I  was  once  more  busy  in  reflecting  on  the 
conduct  which  I  ought  to  pursue  with  regard  to  the  bank- 
bills.  I  weighed,  with  scrupulous  attention,  every  cir 
cumstance  that  might  influence  my  decision.  I  could  not 
conceive  any  more  beneficial  application  of  this  property 
than  to  the  service  of  the  indigent,  at  this  season  of  mul 
tiplied  distress ;  but  I  considered  that,  if  my  death  were 
unknoAvn,  the  house  would  not  be  opened  or  examined 
till  the  pestilence  had  ceased,  and  the  benefits  of  this 
application  would  thus  be  partly  or  wholly  precluded. 

This  season  of  disease,  however,  would  give  place  to  a 
season  of  scarcity.  The  number  and  wants  of  the  poor, 
during  the  ensuing  winter,  would  be  deplorably  aggra 
vated.  What  multitudes  might  be  rescued  from  famine 
and  nakedness  by  the  judicious  application  of  this  sum  ! 

But  how  should  I  secure  this  application  ?  To  enclose 
the  bills  in  a  letter,  directed  to  some  eminent  citizen  or 
public  officer,  was  the  obvious  proceeding.  Both  of  these 
conditions  were  fulfilled  in  the  person  of  the  present 
chief-magistrate.  To  him,  therefore,  the  packet  was  to 
be  sent. 

Paper  and  the  implements  of  writing  were  necessary 
for  this  end.  Would  they  be  found,  I  asked,  in  the  up 
per  room  ?  If  that  apartment,  like  the  rest  which  I  had 
seen,  and  its  furniture,  had  remained  untouched,  my  task 
would  be  practicable ;  but,  if  the  means  of  writing  were 
not  to  be  immediately  procured,  my  purpose,  momentous 
and  dear  as  it  was,  must  be  relinquished. 

The  truth,  in  this  respect,  was  easily  and  ought  imme- 

1R3 


184  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

diately  to  be  ascertained.  I  rose  from  the  bed  which  1 
had  lately  taken,  and  proceeded  to  the  study.  The  en 
tries  and  staircases  were  illuminated  by  a  pretty  strong 
twilight.  The  rooms,  in  consequence  of  every  ray  being 
excluded  by  the  closed  shutters,  were  nearly  as  dark  as 
if  it  had  been  midnight.  The  rooms  into  which  I  had 
already  passed  were  locked,  but  its  key  was  in  each  lock. 
I  flattered  myself  that  the  entrance  into  the  study  would 
be  found  in  the  same  condition.  The  door  was  shut,  but 
no  key  was  to  be  seen.  My  hopes  were  considerably 
damped  by  this  appearance,  but  I  conceived  it  to  be  still 
possible  to  enter,  since,  by  chance  or  by  design,  the  door 
might  be  unlocked. 

My  fingers  touched  the  lock,  when  a  sound  was  heard 
as  if  a  bolt,  appending  to  the  door  on  the  inside,  had 
been  drawn.  I  was  startled  by  this  incident.  It  be 
tokened  that  the  room  was  already  occupied  by  some 
other,  who  desired  to  exclude  a  visitor.  The  unbarred 
shutter  below  was  remembered,  and  associated  itself  with 
this  circumstance.  That  this  house  should  be  entered  by 
the  same  avenue,  at  the  same  time,  and  this  room  should 
be  sought,  by  two  persons,  was  a  mysterious  concurrence. 

I  began  to  question  whether  I  had  heard  distinctly. 
Numberless  inexplicable  noises  are  apt  to  assail  the  ear 
in  an  empty  dwelling.  The  very  echoes  of  our  steps 
are  unwonted  and  new.  This,  perhaps,  was  some  such 
sound.  Resuming  courage,  I  once  more  applied  to  the 
lock.  The  door,  in  spite  of  my  repeated  efforts,  would 
not  open. 

My  design  was  too  momentous  to  be  readily  relin 
quished.  My  curiosity  and  my  fears  likewise  were 
awakened.  The  marks  of  violence,  which  I  had  seen 
on  the  closets  and  cabinets  below,  seemed  to  indicate  the 
presence  of  plunderers.  Here  was  one  who  laboured  for 
seclusion  and  concealment. 

The  pillage  was  not  made  upon  my  property.  My 
weakness  would  disable  me  from  encountering  or  master 
ing  a  man  of  violence.  To  solicit  admission  into  this 
room  would  be  useless.  To  attempt  to  force  my  way 
would  be  absurd.  These  reflections  prompted  me  to 
withdraw  from  the  door;  but  the  uncertainty  of  the  con- 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  185 

elusions  I  had  drawn,  and  the  importance  of  gaining 
access  to  this  apartment,  combined  to  check  my  steps. 

Perplexed  as  to  the  means  I  should  employ,  I  once 
more  tried  the  lock.  The  attempt  was  fruitless  as  the 
former.  Though  hopeless  of  any  information  to  be  gained 
by  that  means,  I  put  my  eye  to  the  keyhole.  I  dis 
covered  a  light  different  from  what  was  usually  met  with 
at  this  hour.  It  was  not  the  twilight  which  the  sun, 
imperfectly  excluded,  produces,  but  gleams,  as  from  a 
lamp ;  yet  its  gleams  were  fainter  and  obscurer  than  a 
lamp  generally  imparts. 

Was  this  a  confirmation  of  my  first  conjecture?  Lamp 
light  at  noonday,  in  a  mansion  thus  deserted,  and  in  a 
room  which  had  been  the  scene  of  memorable  and  disas 
trous  events,  was  ominous.  Hitherto  no  direct  proof  had 
been  given  of  the  presence  of  a  human  being.  How  to 
ascertain  his  presence,  or  whether  it  were  eligible  by  any 
means  to  ascertain  it,  were  points  on  which  I  had  not 
deliberated. 

I  had  no  power  to  deliberate.  My  curiosity  impelled 
me  to  call, — "Is  there  any  one  within?  Speak." 

These  words  were  scarcely  uttered,  when  some  one 
exclaimed,  in  a  voice  vehement  but  half-smothered, 
"  Good  God  !"— 

A  deep  pause  succeeded.  I  waited  for  an  answer;  for 
somewhat  to  which  this  emphatic  invocation  might  be  a 
prelude.  Whether  the  tones  were  expressive  of  surprise, 
or  pain,  or  grief,  was,  for  a  moment,  dubious.  Perhaps 
the  motives  which  led  me  to  this  house  suggested  the  sus 
picion  which  presently  succeeded  to  my  doubts, — that  the 
person  within  was  disabled  by  sickness.  The  circum 
stances  of  my  own  condition  took  away  the  improbability 
from  this  belief.  Why  might  not  another  be  induced 
like  me  to  hide  himself  in  this  desolate  retreat  ?  Might 
not  a  servant,  left  to  take  care  of  the  house,  a  measure 
usually  adopted  by  the  opulent  at  this  time,  be  seized  by 
the  reigning  malady  ?  Incapacitated  for  exertion,  or 
fearing  to  be  dragged  to  the  hospital,  he  has  shut  him 
self  in  this  apartment.  The  robber,  it  may  be,  who 
came  to  pillage,  was  overtaken  and  detained  by  disease. 


1 86  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

In  cither  case,  detection  or  intrusion  would  be  hateful, 
and  would  be  assiduously  eluded. 

These  thoughts  had  no  tendency  to  weaken  or  divert 
my  efforts  to  obtain  access  to  this  room.  The  person  was 
a  brother  in  calamity,  whom  it  was  ray  duty  to  succour 
and  cherish  to  the  utmost  of  my  power.  Once  more  I 
spoke : — 

"  Who  is  within?  I  beseech  you  answer  me.  What 
ever  you  be,  I  desire  to  do  you  good  and  not  injury. 
Open  the  door  and  let  me  know  your  condition.  I  will 
try  to  be  of  use  to  you." 

I  was  answered  by  a  deep  groan,  and  by  a  sob  coun 
teracted  and  devoured  as  it  were  by  a  mighty  effort. 
This  token  of  distress  thrilled  to  my  heart.  My  terrors 
wholly  disappeared,  and  gave  place  to  unlimited  compas 
sion.  I  again  entreated  to  be  admitted,  promising  all 
the  succour  or  consolation  which  my  situation  allowed 
me  to  afford. 

Answers  were  made  in  tones  of  anger  and  impatience, 
blended  with  those  of  grief: — "I  want  no  succour;  vex 
me  not  with  your  entreaties  and  offers.  Fly  from  this 
spot ;  linger  not  a  moment,  lest  you  participate  my 
destiny  and  rush  upon  your  death." 

These  I  considered  merely  as  the  effusions  of  delirium, 
or  the  dictates  of  despair.  The  style  and  articulation 
denoted  the  speaker  to  be  superior  to  the  class  of  ser 
vants.  Hence  my  anxiety  to  see  and  to  aid  him  was 
increased.  My  remonstrances  were  sternly  and  perti 
naciously  repelled.  For  a  time,  incoherent  and  impas 
sioned  exclamations  flowed  from  him.  At  length,  I  was 
only  permitted  to  hear  strong  aspirations  and  sobs,  more 
eloquent  and  more  indicative  of  grief  than  any  language. 

This  deportment  filled  me  with  no  less  wonder  than 
commiseration.  By  what  views  this  person  was  led 
hither,  by  what  motives  induced  to  deny  himself  to  my 
entreaties,  was  wholly  incomprehensible.  Again,  though 
hopeless  of  success,  I  repeated  my  request  to  be  ad 
mitted. 

My  perseverance  seemed  now  to  have  exhausted  all 
his  patience,  and  he  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  of  thunder, 
"Arthur  Mervyu !  Begone.  Linger  but  a  moment, 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  l8/ 

and  iny  rage,  tiger-like,  will  rush  upon  you  and  rend 
you  limb  from  limb." 

This  address  petrified  me.  The  voice  that  uttered 
this  sanguinary  menace  was  strange  to  my  ears.  It 
suggested  no  suspicion  of  ever  having  heard  it  before. 
Yet  my  accents  had  betrayed  me  to  him.  He  was  fami 
liar  with  my  name.  Notwithstanding  the  improbability 
of  my  entrance  into  this  dwelling,  I  was  clearly  recog 
nized  and  unhesitatingly  named ! 

My  curiosity  and  compassion  were  in  no  wise  dimi 
nished,  but  I  found  myself  compelled  to  give  up  my 
purpose.  I  withdrew  reluctantly  from  the  door,  and 
once  more  threw  myself  upon  my  bed.  Nothing  was 
more  necessary,  in  the  present  condition  of  my  frame, 
than  sleep ;  and  sleep  had,  perhaps,  been  possible,  if  the 
scene  around  me  had  been  less  pregnant  with  causes  of 
wonder  and  panic. 

Once  more  I  tasked  memory  in  order  to  discover,  in 
the  persons  with  whom  I  had  hitherto  conversed,  some 
resemblance,  in  voice  or  tones,  to  him  whom  I  had  just 
heard.  This  process  was  effectual.  Gradually  my  ima 
gination  called  up  an  image  which,  now  that  it  was 
clearly  seen,  I  was  astonished  had  not  instantly  oc 
curred.  Three  years  ago,  a  man,  by  name  Colvill,  came 
on  foot,  and  with  a  knapsack  on  his  back,  into  the  dis 
trict  where  my  father  resided.  He  had  learning  and 
genius,  and  readily  obtained  the  station  for  which  only 
he  deemed  himself  qualified ;  that  of  a  schoolmaster. 

His  demeanour  was  gentle  and  modest ;  his  habits,  as 
to  sleep,  food,  and  exercise,  abstemious  and  regular. 
Meditation  in  the  forest,  or  reading  in  his  closet,  seemed 
to  constitute,  together  with  attention  to  his  scholars,  his 
sole  amusement  and  employment.  He  estranged  him 
self  from  company,  not  because  society  afforded  no  plea 
sure,  but  because  studious  seclusion  afforded  him  chief 
satisfaction. 

No  one  was  more  idolized  by  his  unsuspecting  neigh 
bours.  His  scholars  revered  him  as  a  father,  and  made 
under  his  tuition  a  remarkable  proficiency.  His  charac 
ter  seemed  open  to  boundless  inspection,  and  his  conduct 
was  pronounced  by  all  to  be  faultless. 


1 88  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

At  the  end  of  a  year  the  scene  was  changed.  A 
daughter  of  one  of  his  patrons,  young,  artless,  and 
beautiful,  appeared  to  have  fallen  a  prey  to  the  arts  of 
some  detestable  seducer.  The  betrayer  was  gradually 
detected,  and  successive  discoveries  showed  that  the 
same  artifices  had  been  practised,  with  the  same  success, 
upon  many  others.  Colvill  was  the  arch-villain.  lie 
retired  from  the  storm  of  vengeance  that  was  gathering 
over  him,  and  had  not  been  heard  of  since  that  period. 

I  saw  him  rarely,  and  for  a  short  time,  and  I  was  a 
mere  boy.  Hence  the  failure  to  recollect  his  voice,  and 
to  perceive  that  the  voice  of  him  immured  in  the  room 
above  was  the  same  with  that  of  Colvill.  Though  I  had 
slight  reasons  for  recognising  his  features  or  accents,  I 
had  abundant  cause  to  think  of  him  with  detestation, 
and  pursue  him  with  implacable  revenge,  for  the  victim 
of  his  acts,  she  whose  ruin  was  first  detected,  was — 
my  sister. 

This  unhappy  girl  escaped  from  the  upbraidings  of 
her  parents,  from  the  contumelies  of  the  world,  from  the 
goatlings  of  remorse,  and  the  anguish  flowing  from  the 
perfidy  and  desertion  of  Colvill,  in  a  voluntary  death. 
She  was  innocent  and  lovely.  Previous  to  this  evil,  my 
soul  was  linked  with  hers  by  a  thousand  resemblances 
and  sympathies,  as  well  as  by  perpetual  intercourse 
from  infancy,  and  by  the  fraternal  relation.  She  was 
my  sister,  my  preceptress  and  friend ;  but  she  died — her 
end  was  violent,  untimely,  and  criminal !  I  cannot  think 
of  her  without  heart-bursting  grief;  of  her  destroyer, 
without  a  rancour  which  I  know  to  be  wrong,  but  which 
I  cannot  subdue. 

When  the  image  of  Colvill  rushed,  upon  this  occasion, 
on  my  thought,  1  almost  started  on  niy  feet.  To  meet 
him,  after  so  long  a  separation,  here,  and  in  these  cir 
cumstances,  was  so  unlooked-for  and  abrupt  an  event, 
and  revived  a  tribe  of  such  hateful  impulses  and 
agoni/ing  recollections,  that  a  total  revolution  seemed  to 
have  been  effected  in  my  frame.  His  recognition  of  my 
person,  his  aversion  to  be  seen,  his  ejaculation  of  terror 
and  surprise  on  first  hearing  my  voice,  all  contributed 
to  strengthen  my  belief. 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  189 

How  was  I  to  act?  My  feeble  frame  could  but  ill 
second  my  vengeful  purposes ;  but  vengeance,  though  it 
sometimes  occupied  my  thoughts,  was  hindered  by  my 
reason  from  leading  me,  in  any  instance,  to  outrage  or 
even  to  upbraiding. 

All  my  wishes  with  regard  to  this  man  were  limited 
to  expelling  his  image  from  my  memory,  and  to  shun 
ning  a  meeting  with  him.  That  he  had  not  opened  the 
door  at  my  bidding  was  now  a  topic  of  joy.  To  look 
upon  some  bottomless  pit,  into  which  I  was  about  to  be 
cast  headlong,  and  alive,  was  less  to  be  abhorred  than  to 
look  upon  the  face  of  Colvill.  Had  I  known  that  he 
had  taken  refuge  in  this  house,  no  power  should  have 
compelled  me  to  enter  it.  To  be  immersed  in  the  infec 
tion  of  the  hospital,  and  to  be  hurried,  yet  breathing 
and  observant,  to  my  grave,  was  a  more  supportable 
fate. 

I  dwell,  with  self-condemnation  and  shame,  upon  this 
part  of  my  story.  To  feel  extraordinary  indignation  at 
vice,  merely  because  we  have  partaken  in  an  extraordi 
nary  degree  of  its  mischiefs,  is  unjustifiable.  To  regard 
the  wicked  with  no  emotion  but  pity,  to  be  active  in  re 
claiming  them,  in  controlling  their  malevolence,  and 
preventing  or  repairing  the  ills  Avhich  they  produce,  is 
the  only  province  of  duty.  This  lesson,  as  well  as  a 
thousand  others,  I  have  yet  to  learn ;  but  I  despair  of 
living  long  enough  for  that  or  any  beneficial  purpose. 

My  emotions  witli  regard  to  Colvill  were  erroneous, 
but  omnipotent.  I  started  from  my  bed,  and  prepared 
to  rush  into  the  street.  I  was  careless  of  the  lot  that 
should  befall  me,  since  no  fate  could  be  worse  than  that 
of  abiding  under  the  same  roof  with  a  wretch  spotted 
with  so  many  crimes. 

I  had  not  set  my  feet  upon  the  floor  before  my  preci 
pitation  was  checked  by  a  sound  from  above.  The  door 
of  the  study  was  cautiously  and  slowly  opened.  This 
incident  admitted  only  of  one  construction,  supposing  all 
obstructions  removed.  Colvill  was  creeping  from  his 
hiding-place,  and  would  probably  ily  with  speed  from 
the  house.  My  belief  of  his  sickness  was  now  confuted. 


ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

An  illicit  design  was  congenial  with  his  character  and 
congruous  with  those  appearances  already  observed. 

I  had  no  power  or  wish  to  obstruct  his  flight.  I 
thought  of  it  with  transport,  and  once  more  threw  my 
self  upon  the  bed,  and  wrapped  my  averted  face  in  the 
carpet.  He  would  probably  pass  this  door,  unobservant 
of  me,  and  my  muffled  face  would  save  me  from  the 
agonies  connected  with  the  sight  of  him. 

The  footsteps  above  were  distinguishable,  though  it 
was  manifest  that  they  moved  with  lightsomeness  and 
circumspection.  They  reached  the  stair  and  descended. 
The  room  in  which  I  lay  was,  like  the  rest,  obscured  by 
the  closed  shutters.  This  obscurity  now  gave  way  to  a 
light,  resembling  that  glimmering  and  pale  reflection 
which  I  had  noticed  in  the  study.  My  eyes,  though 
averted  from  the  door,  were  disengaged  from  the  folds 
which  covered  the  rest  of  my  head,  and  observed  these 
tokens  of  Colvill's  approach,  flitting  on  the  wall. 

My  feverish  perturbations  increased  as  he  drew  nearer. 
He  reached  the  door,  and  stopped.  The  light  rested  for 
a  moment.  Presently  he  entered  the  apartment.  My 
emotions  suddenly  rose  to  a  height  that  would  not  be 
controlled.  I  imagined  that  he  approached  the  bed, 
and  was  gazing  upon  me.  At  the  same  moment,  by  an 
involuntary  impulse,  I  threw  off  my  covering,  and,  turn 
ing  my  face,  fixed  my  eyes  upon  my  visitant. 

It  was  as  I  suspected.  The  figure,  lifting  in  his  right 
hand  a  candle,  and  gazing  at  the  bed,  with  lineaments 
and  attitude  bespeaking  fearful  expectation  and  torment 
ing  doubts,  was  now  beheld.  One  glance  communicated 
to  my  senses  all  the  parts  of  this  terrific  vision.  A 
sinking  at  my  heart,  as  if  it  had  been  penetrated  by  a 
dagger,  seized  me.  This  was  not  enough :  I  uttered  a 
shriek,  too  rueful  and  loud  not  to  have  startled  the 
attention  of  the  passengers,  if  any  had,  at  that  moment, 
been  passing  the  street. 

Heaven  seemed  to  have  decreed  that  this  period  should 
be  filled  with  trials  of  iny  equanimity  and  fortitude. 
The  test  of  my  courage  was  once  more  employed  to 
cover  me  with  humiliation  and  remorse.  This  second 
time,  my  fancy  conjured  up  a  spectre,  and  I  shuddered 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  \gi 

as  if   the  grave  were  forsaken  and   the  unquiet  dead 
haunted  my  pillow. 

The  visage  and  the  shape  had  indeed  preternatural 
attitudes,  but  they  belonged,  not  to  Colvill,  but  to — 
WELBECK. 


CHAPTER   XXL 

HE  whom  I  had  accompanied  to  the  midst  of  the  river ; 
whom  I  had  imagined  that  I  saw  sink  to  rise  no  more, 
was  now  before  me.  Though  incapable  of  precluding 
the  groundless  belief  of  preternatural  visitations,  I  was 
able  to  banish  the  phantom  almost  at  the  same  instant 
at  which  it  appeared.  Welbeck  had  escaped  from  the 
stream  alive ;  or  had,  by  some  inconceivable  means,  been 
restored  to  life. 

The  first  was  the  most  plausible  conclusion.  It 
instantly  engendered  a  suspicion,  that  his  plunging 
into  the  water  was  an  artifice,  intended  to  establish  a  be 
lief  of  his  death.  His  own  tale  had  shown  him  to  be 
versed  in  frauds,  and  flexible  to  evil.  But  was  he  not 
associated  with  Colvill?  and  what,  but  a  compact  in 
iniquity,  could  bind  together  such  men? 

While  thus  musing,  Welbeck's  countenance  and  gesture 
displayed  emotions  too  vehement  for  speech.  The  glances 
that  he  fixed  upon  me  were  unsteadfast  and  wild.  He 
walked  along  the  floor,  stopping  at  each  moment,  and 
darting  looks  of  eagerness  upon  me.  A  conflict  of 
passions  kept  him  mute.  At  length,  advancing  to  the 
bed,  on  the  side  of  which  I  was  now  sitting,  he  addressed 
ine: — 

"  What  is  this  ?  Are  you  here  ?  In  defiance  of  pesti 
lence,  are  you  actuated  by  some  demon  to  haunt  me,  like 
the  ghost  of  my  offences,  and  cover  me  with  shame  ? 
What  have  I  to  do  with  that  dauntless  yet  guiltless  front? 
With  that  foolishly-confiding  and  obsequious,  yet  erect 
and  unconquerable,  spirit?  Is  there  no  means  of  evading 
your  pursuit?  Must  I  dip  my  hands,  a  second  time,  in 
blood;  and  dig  for  you  a  grave  by  the  side  of  Watson?' 
192 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  193 

These  words  were  listened  to  with  calmness.  I  sus 
pected  and  pitied  the  man,  but  I  did  not  fear  him.  His 
words  and  his  looks  were  indicative  less  of  cruelty  than 
madness.  I  looked  at  him  with  an  air  compassionate 
and  wistful.  I  spoke  with  mildness  and  composure : — 

"  Mr.  Welbeck,  you  are  unfortunate  and  criminal. 
Would  to  God  I  could  restore  you  to  happiness  and  virtue ! 
but,  though  my  desire  be  strong,  I  have  no  power  to 
change  your  habits  or  rescue  you  from  misery. 

"  I  believed  you  to  be  dead.  I  rejoice  to  find  myself 
mistaken.  While  you  live,  there  is  room  to  hope  that 
your  errors  will  be  cured ;  and  the  turmoils  and  inquiet 
udes  that  have  hitherto  beset  your  guilty  progress  will 
vanish  by  your  reverting  into  better  paths. 

"From  me  you  have  nothing  to  fear.  If  your  welfare 
will  be  promoted  by  my  silence  on  the  subject  of  your 
history,  my  silence  shall  be  inviolate.  I  deem  not  lightly 
of  my  promises.  They  are  given,  and  shall  not  be  re 
called. 

"  This  meeting  was  casual.  Since  I  believed  you  to 
be  dead,  it  could  not  be  otherwise.  You  err,  if  you  sup 
pose  that  any  injury  will  accrue  to  you  from  my  life; 
but  you  need  not  discard  that  error.  Since  my  death  is 
coming,  I  am  not  averse  to  your  adopting  the  belief  that 
the  event  is  fortunate  to  you. 

"Death  is  the  inevitable  and  universal  lot.  When  or 
how  it  comes,  is  of  little  moment.  To  stand,  when  so 
many  thousands  are  falling  around  me,  is  not  to  be  ex 
pected.  I  have  acted  an  humble  and  obscure  part  in 
the  world,  and  my  career  has  been  short;  but  I  murmur 
not  at  the  decree  that  makes  it  so. 

"The  pestilence  is  now  upon  me.  The  chances  of 
recovery  are  too  slender  to  deserve  my  confidence.  I 
came  hither  to  die  unmolested,  and  at  peace.  All  I  ask 
of  you  is  to  consult  your  own  safety  by  immediate 
flight ;  and  not  to  disappoint  my  hopes  of  concealment, 
by  disclosing  my  condition  to  the  agents  of  the  hos 
pital." 

Welbeck    listened  with  the  deepest    attention.     The 
vildness  of  his  air  disappeared,  and  gave  place  to  per 
plexity  and  apprehension. 
13 


194  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

"You  are  sick,"  said  he,  in  a  tremulous  tone,  in  which 
terror  was  mingled  with  affection.  "You  know  this,  and 
expect  not  to  recover.  No  mother,  nor  sister,  nor  friend, 
will  be  near  to  administer  food,  or  medicine,  or  comfort ; 
yet  you  can  talk  calmly ;  can  be  thus  considerate  of 
others — of  me ;  whose  guilt  has  been  so  deep,  and  who 
has  merited  so  little  at  your  hands  ! 

"Wretched  coward  !  Thus  miserable  as  I  am  and  ex 
pect  to  be,  I  cling  to  life.  To  comply  with  your  heroic 
counsel,  and  to  fly  ;  to  leave  you  thus  desolate  and  help 
less,  is  the  strongest  impulse.  Fain  would  I  resist  it, 
but  cannot. 

"  To  desert  you  would  be  flagitious  and  dastardly  be 
yond  all  former  acts ;  yet  to  stay  with  you  is  to  contract 
the  disease,  and  to  perish  after  you. 

"Life,  burdened  as  it  is  with  guilt  and  ignominy,  is 
still  dear — yet  you  exhort  me  to  go ;  you  dispense  with 
my  assistance.  Indeed,  I  could  be  of  no  use ;  I  should 
injure  myself  and  profit  you  nothing.  I  cannot  go  into 
the  city  and  procure  a  physician  or  attendant.  I  must 
never  more  appear  in  the  streets  of  this  city.  I  must 
leave  you,  then."  He  hurried  to  the  door.  Again,  he 
hesitated.  I  renewed  my  entreaties  that  he  would  leave 
me ;  and  encouraged  his  belief  that  his  presence  might 
endanger  himself  without  conferring  the  slightest  benefit 
upon  me. 

"Whither  should  I  fly  ?  The  wide  world  contains  no 
asylum  for  me.  I  lived  but  on  one  condition.  I  came 
hither  to  find  what  would  save  me  from  ruin, — from 
death.  I  find  it  not.  It  has  vanished.  Some  audacious 
and  fortunate  hand  has  snatched  it  from  its  place,  and 
now  my  ruin  is  complete.  My  last  hope  is  extinct. 

"  Yes,  Mervyn !  I  will  stay  with  you.  I  will  hold 
your  head.  I  will  put  water  to  your  lips.  I  will  watch 
night  and  day  by  your  side.  When  you  die,  I  will  carry 
you  by  night  to  the  neighbouring  field ;  will  bury  you, 
and  water  your  grave  with  those  tears  that  are  due  to 
your  incomparable  worth  and  untimely  destiny.  Then 
I  will  lay  myself  in  your  bed,  and  wait  for  the  same 
oblivion." 

Welbeck  seemed  now  no  longer  to  be  fluctuating  be- 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  /79J.  195 

tween  opposite  purposes.  His  tempestuous  features  sub 
sided  into  calm.  He  put  the  candle,  still  lighted,  on  the 
table,  and  paced  the  floor  with  less  disorder  than  at  his 
first  entrance. 

His  resolution  was  seen  to  be  the  dictate  of  despair. 
I  hoped  that  it  would  not  prove  invincible  to  my  re 
monstrances.  I  was  conscious  that  his  attendance  might 
preclude,  in  some  degree,  my  own  exertions,  and  alleviate 
the  pangs  of  death ;  but  these  consolations  might  be 
purchased  too  dear.  To  receive  them  at  the  hazard  of 
his  life  would  be  to  make  them  odious. 

But,  if  he  should  remain,  what  conduct  would  his 
companion  pursue  ?  Why  did  he  continue  in  the  study 
when  Welbeck  had  departed  ?  By  what  motives  were 
those  men  led  hither  ?  I  addressed  myself  to  Welbeck  : — 

"  Your  resolution  to  remain  is  hasty  and  rash.  By 
persisting  in  it,  you  will  add  to  the  miseries  of  my  con 
dition  ;  you  will  take  away  the  only  hope  that  I  cherished. 
But,  however  you  may  act,  Colvill  or  I  must  be  banished 
from  this  roof.  What  is  the  league  between  you  ?  Break 
it,  I  conjure  you,  before  his  frauds  have  involved  you  in 
inextricable  destruction." 

Welbeck  looked  at  me  with  some  expression  of  doubt. 

"  I  mean,"  continued  I,  "  the  man  whose  voice  I  heard 
above.  He  is  a  villain  and  betrayer.  I  have  manifold 
proofs  of  his  guilt.  Why  does  he  linger  behind  you  ? 
However  you  may  decide,  it  is  fitting  that  he  should 
vanish." 

"Alas!"  said  Welbeck,  "I  have  no  companion,  none 
to  partake  with  me  in  good  or  evil.  I  came  hither  alone." 

"How?"  exclaimed  I.  "Whom  did  I  hear  in  the 
room  above?  Some  one  answered  my  interrogations 
and  entreaties,  whom  I  too  certainly  recognised.  Why 
does  he  remain?" 

"You  heard  no  one  but  myself.  The  design  that 
brought  me  hither  was  to  be  accomplished  without  a  wit 
ness.  I  desired  to  escape  detection,  and  repelled  your 
solicitations  for  admission  in  a  counterfeited  voice. 

"  That  voice  belonged  to  one  from  whom  I  had  lately 
parted.  What  his  merits  or  demerits  are,  I  know  not. 
He  found  me  wandering  in  the  forests  of  New  Jersey. 


196  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

He  took  me  to  his  home.  When  seized  by  a  lingering 
malady,  he  nursed  me  with  fidelity  and  tenderness. 
When  somewhat  recovered,  I  speeded  hither ;  but  our 
ignorance  of  each  other's  character  and  views  was  mutual 
and  profound. 

"  I  deemed  it  useful  to  assume  a  voice  different  from 
my  own.  This  was  the  last  which  I  had  heard,  and  this 
arbitrary  and  casual  circumstance  decided  my  choice." 

This  imitation  was  too  perfect,  and  had  influenced  my 
fears  too  strongly,  to  be  easily  credited.  I  suspected 
Welbeck  of  some  new  artifice  to  baffle  my  conclusions 
and  mislead  my  judgment.  This  suspicion,  however, 
yielded  to  his  earnest  and  repeated  declarations.  If 
Colvill  were  not  here,  where  had  he  made  his  abode? 
How  came  friendship  and  intercourse  between  Welbeck 
and  him  ?  By  what  miracle  escaped  the  former  from 
the  river,  into  which  I  had  imagined  him  forever  sunk  ? 

"  I  will  answer  you,"  said  he,  with  candour.  "  You 
know  already  too  much  for  me  to  have  any  interest  in 
concealing  any  part  of  my  life.  You  have  discovered 
my  existence,  and  the  causes  that  rescued  me  from 
destruction  may  be  told  without  detriment  to  my  person 
or  fame. 

"  When  I  leaped  into  the  river,  I  intended  to  perish. 
I  harboured  no  previous  doubts  of  my  ability  fo  execute 
my  fatal  purpose.  In  this  respect  I  was  deceived.  Suf 
focation  would  not  come  at  my  bidding.  My  muscles 
and  limbs  rebelled  against  my  will.  There  was  a  me 
chanical  repugnance  to  the  loss  of  life,  which  I  could  not 
vanquish.  My  struggles  might  thrust  me  below  the  sur 
face,  but  my  lips  were  spontaneously  shut,  and  excluded 
the  torrent  from  my  lungs.  When  my  breath  was  ex 
hausted,  the  efforts  that  kept  me  at  the  bottom  were 
involuntarily  remitted,  and  I  rose  to  the  surface. 

"  I  cursed  my  own  pusillanimity.  Thrice  I  plunged 
to  the  bottom,  and  as  often  rose  again.  My  aversion  to 
life  swiftly  diminished,  and  at  length  I  consented  to 
make  use  of  my  skill  in  swimming,  which  has  seldom 
been  exceeded,  to  prolong  my  existence.  I  landed  in  a 
few  minutes  on  the  Jersey  shore. 

"  This  scheme  being  frustrated,  I  sunk  into  dreariness 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  197 

and  inactivity.  I  felt  as  if  no  dependence  could  be 
placed  upon  my  courage,  as  if  any  effort  I  should  make 
for  self-destruction  would  be  fruitless  ;  yet  existence  was 
as  void  as  ever  of  enjoyment  and  embellishment.  My 
means  of  living  were  annihilated.  I  saw  no  path  before 
me.  To  shun  the  presence  of  mankind  was  my  sove 
reign  wish.  Since  I  could  not  die  by  my  own  hands,  I 
must  be  content  to  crawl  upon  the  surface,  till  a  superior 
fate  should  permit  me  to  perish. 

"  I  wandered  into  the  centre  of  the  wood.  I  stretched 
myself  on  the  mossy  verge  of  a  brook,  and  gazed  at  the 
stars  till  they  disappeared.  The  next  day  was  spent 
with  little  variation.  The  cravings  of  hunger  were  felt, 
and  the  sensation  was  a  joyous  one,  since  it  afforded  me 
the  practicable  means  of  death.  To  refrain  from  food 
was  easy,  since  some  efforts  would  be  needful  to  procure 
it,  and  these  efforts  should  not  be  made.  Thus  was  the 
sweet  oblivion  for  which  I  so  earnestly  panted  placed 
within  my  reach. 

"  Three  days  of  abstinence,  and  reverie,  and  solitude, 
succeeded.  On  the  evening  of  the  fourth,  I  was  seated 
on  a  rock,  with  my  face  buried  in  my  hands.  Some  one 
laid  his  hand  upon  my  shoulder.  I  started  and  looked 
up.  I  beheld  a  face  beaming  with  compassion  and  be 
nignity.  He  endeavoured  to  extort  from  me  the  cause 
of  my  solitude  and  sorrow.  I  disregarded  his  entrea 
ties,  and  was  obstinately  silent. 

"  Finding  me  invincible  in  this  respect,  he  invited  me 
to  his  cottage,  which  was  hard  by.  I  repelled  him  at 
first  with  impatience  and  anger,  but  he  was  not  to  be 
discouraged  or  intimidated.  To  elude  his  persuasions  I 
was  obliged  to  comply.  My  strength  was  gone,  and  the 
vital  fabric  was  crumbling  into  pieces.  A  fever  raged 
in  my  veins,  and  I  was  consoled  by  reflecting  that  my 
life  was  at  once  assailed  by  famine  and  disease. 

"  Meanwhile,  my  gloomy  meditations  experienced  no 
respite.  I  incessantly  ruminated  on  the  events  of  my 
past  life.  The  long  series  of  my  crimes  arose  daily  and 
afresh  to  my  imagination.  The  image  of  Lodi  was  re 
called,  his  expiring  looks  and  the  directions  which  were 
mutually  given  respecting  his  sister's  and  his  property. 


198  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

11  As  I  perpetually  revolved  these  incidents,  they  as 
sumed  new  forms,  and  were  linked  with  new  associations. 
The  volume  written  by  his  father,  and  transferred  to 
me  by  tokens  which  were  now  remembered  to  be  more 
emphatic  than  the  nature  of  the  composition  seemed  to 
justify,  was  likewise  remembered.  It  came  attended  by 
recollections  respecting  a  volume  which  I  filled,  when  a 
youth,  with  extracts  from  the  Roman  and  Greek  poets. 
Besides  this  literary  purpose,  I  likewise  used  to  preserve 
in  it  the  bank-bills  with  the  keeping  or  carriage  of  which 
I  chanced  to  be  entrusted.  This  image  led  me  back  to 
the  leather  case  containing  Lodi's  property,  which  was 
put  into  my  hands  at  the  same  time  with  the  volume. 

"  These  images  now  gave  birth  to  a  third  conception, 
which  darted  on  my  benighted  understanding  like  an  elec 
trical  flash.  Was  it  not  possible  that  part  of  Lodi's  pro 
perty  might  be  enclosed  within  the  leaves  of  this  volume? 
In  hastily  turning  it  over,  I  recollected  to  have  noticed 
leaves  whose  edges  by  accident  or  design  adhered  to 
each  other.  Lodi,  in  speaking  of  the  sale  of  his  father's 
West-India  property,  mentioned  that  the  sum  obtained 
for  it  was  forty  thousand  dollars.  Half  only  of  this  sum 
had  been  discovered  by  me.  How  had  the  remainder 
been  appropriated  ?  Surely  this  volume  contained  it. 

"  The  influence  of  this  thought  was  like  the  infusion 
of  a  new  soul  into  my  frame.  From  torpid  and  despe 
rate,  from  inflexible  aversion  to  medicine  and  food,  I 
•was  changed  in  a  moment  into  vivacity  and  hope,  into 
ravenous  avidity  for  whatever  could  contribute  to  my 
restoration  to  health. 

"  I  was  not  without  pungent  regrets  and  racking  fears. 
That  this  volume  would  be  ravished  away  by  creditors  or 
plunderers  was  possible.  Every  hour  might  be  that 
which  decided  my  fate.  The  first  impulse  was  to  seek 
my  dwelling  and  search  for  this  precious  deposit. 

"  Meanwhile,  my  perturbations  and  impatience  only 
exasperated  my  disease.  While  chained  to  my  bed,  the 
rumour  of  pestilence  was  spread  abroad.  This  event, 
however,  generally  calamitous,  was  propitious  to  me,  and 
was  hailed  with  satisfaction.  It  multiplied  the  chances 
that  my  house  and  its  furniture  would  be  unmolested. 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  199 

"  My  friend  was  assiduous  and  indefatigable  in  his 
kindness.  My  deportment,  before  and  subsequent  to 
the  revival  of  my  hopes,  was  incomprehensible,  and 
argued  nothing  less  than  insanity.  My  thoughts  were 
carefully  concealed  from  him,  and  all  that  he  witnessed 
was  contradictory  and  unintelligible. 

"At  length,  my  strength  wfcs  sufficiently  restored.  I 
resisted  all  my  protector's  importunities  to  postpone  my 
departure  till  the  perfect  confirmation  of  my  health.  I 
designed  to  enter  the  city  at  midnight,  that  prying  eyes 
might  be  eluded ;  to  bear  with  me  a  candle  and  the 
means  of  lighting  it,  to  explore  my  way  to  my  ancient 
study,  and  to  ascertain  my  future  claim  to  existence  and 
felicity. 

"I  crossed  the  river  this  morning.  My  impatience 
would  not  suffer  me  to  wait  till  evening.  Considering 
the  desolation  of  the  city,  I  thought  I  might  venture  to 
approach  thus  near,  without  hazard  of  detection.  The 
house,  at  all  its  avenues,  was  closed.  I  stole  into  the 
back  court.  A  window-shutter  proved  to  be  unfastened. 
I  entered,  and  discovered  closets  and  cabinets  unfastened 
and  emptied  of  all  their  contents.  At  this  spectacle  my 
heart  sunk.  My  books,  doubtless,  had  shared  the  com 
mon  destiny.  My  blood  throbbed  with  painful  vehe 
mence  as  I  approached  the  study  and  opened  the  door. 

"My  hopes,  that  languished  for  a  moment,  were  re 
vived  by  the  sight  of  my  shelves,  furnished  as  formerly. 
I  had  lighted  my  candle  below,  for  I  desired  not  to 
awaken  observation  and  suspicion  by  unclosing  the  win 
dows.  My  eye  eagerly  sought  the  spot  where  I  remem 
bered  to  have  left  the  volume.  Its  place  was  empty. 
The  object  of  all  my  hopes  had  eluded  my  grasp,  and 
disappeared  forever. 

"To  paint  my  confusion,  to  repeat  my  execrations  on 
the  infatuation  which  had  rendered,  during  so  long  a 
time  that  it  was  in  my  possession,  this  treasure  useless 
to  me,  and  my  curses  of  the  fatal  interference  which  had 
snatched  away  the  prize,  would  be  only  aggravations  of 
my  disappointment  and  my  sorrow.  You  found  me  ic 
this  state,  and  know  what  followed." 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

THIS  narrative  threw  new  light  on  the  character  of 
Welbeck.  If  accident  had  given  him  possession  of  this 
treasure,  it  was  easy  to  predict  on  what  schemes  of 
luxury  and  selfishness  it  would  have  been  expended. 
The  same  dependence  on  the  world's  erroneous  estima 
tion,  the  same  devotion  to  imposture,  and  thoughtless 
ness  of  futurity,  would  have  Constituted  the  picture  of 
his  future  life,  as  had  distinguished  the  past. 

This  money  was  another's.  To  retain  it  for  his  own 
use  was  criminal.  Of  this  crime  he  appeared  to  be  as 
insensible  as  ever.  His  own  gratification  was  the  su 
preme  law  of  his  actions.  To  be  subjected  to  the  neces 
sity  of  honest  labour  was  the  heaviest  of  all  evils,  and 
one  from  which  he  was  willing  to  escape  by  the  commis 
sion  of  suicide. 

The  volume  which  he  sought  was  mine.  It  was  my 
duty  to  restore  it  to  the  rightful  owner,  or,  if  the  legal 
claimant  could  not  be  found,  to  employ  it  in  the  promo 
tion  of  virtue  and  happiness.  To  give  it  to  Welbeck 
was  to  consecrate  it  to  the  purpose  of  selfishness  and 
misery.  My  right,  legally  considered,  was  as  valid  as  his. 

But,  if  I  intended  not  to  resign  it  to  him,  was  it  proper 
to  disclose  the  truth  and  explain  by  whom  the  volume 
was  purloined  from  the  shelf?  The  first  impulse  was  to 
hide  this  truth ;  but  my  understanding  had  been  taught, 
by  recent  occurrences,  to  question  the  justice  and  deny 
the  usefulness  of  secrecy  in  any  case.  My  principles 
were  true ;  my  motives  were  pure :  why  should  I  scruple 
to  avow  my  principles  and  vindicate  my  actions  ? 

Welbeck  had  ceased  to  be  dreaded  or  revered.  Tha* 
awe  which  was  once  created  by  his  superiority  of  age, 
200 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  2OI 

refinement  of  manners,  and  dignity  of  garb,  had  va 
nished.  I  was  a  boy  in  years,  an  indigent  and  unedu 
cated  rustic ;  but  I  was  able  to  discern  the  illusions  of 
power  and  riches,  and  abjured  every  claim  to  esteem  that 
was  not  founded  on  integrity.  There  was  no  tribunal 
before  which  I  should  falter  in  asserting  the  truth,  and 
no  species  of  martyrdom  which  I  would  not  cheerfully 
embrace  in  its  cause. 

After  some  pause,  I  said,  "  Cannot  you  conjecture  in 
what  way  this  volume  has  disappeared  :" 

"No,"  he  answered,  with  a  sigh.  "Why,  of  all  his 
volumes,  this  only  should  have  vanished,  was  an  inexpli 
cable  enigma." 

"Perhaps,"  said  I,  "it  is  less  important  to  know  how 
it  was  removed,  than  by  whom  it  is  now  possessed." 

"Unquestionably;  and  yet,  unless  that  knowledge 
enables  me  to  regain  the  possession,  it  will  be  useless." 

"  Useless  then  it  will  be,  for  the  present  possessor  will 
never  return  it  to  you." 

"Indeed,"  replied  he,  in  a  tone  of  dejection,  "your 
conjecture  is  most  probable.  Such  a  prize  is  of  too  much 
value  to  be  given  up." 

"What  I  have  said  flows  not  from  conjecture,  but 
from  knowledge.  I  know  that  it  will  never  be  restored 
to  you." 

At  these  words,  Welbeck  looked  at  me  with  anxiety 
and  doubt : — "  You  know  that  it  will  not !  Have  you 
any  knowledge  of  the  book  ?  Can  you  tell  me  what  has 
become  of  it :" 

"  Yes.  After  our  separation  on  the  river,  I  returned 
to  this  house.  I  found  this  volume  and  secured  it.  You 
rightly  suspected  its  contents.  The  money  was  there." 

Welbeck  started  as  if  he  had  trodden  on  a  mine  of 
gold.  His  first  emotion  was  rapturous,  but  was  imme 
diately  chastened  by  some  degree  of  doubt : — "  What  has 
become  of  it?  Have  you  got  it ?  Is  it  entire?  Have 
you  it  with  you  ?" 

"  It  is  unimpaired.  I  have  got  it,  and  shall  hold  it  as 
a  sacred  trust  for  the  rightful  proprietor." 

The  tone  with  which  this  declaration  was  accompanied 
shook  the  new-born  confidence  of  Welbeck.  "  The  right- 


202  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

ful  proprietor  !  true,  but  I  am  he.     To  me  only  it  belongs. 
and  to  me  you  are,  doubtless,  willing  to  restore  it." 

"Mr.  Welbeck  !  It  is  not  my  desire  to  give  you  per 
plexity  or  anguish  ;  to  sport  with  your  passions.  On  the 
supposition  of  your  death,  I  deemed  it  no  infraction  of 
justice  to  take  this  manuscript.  Accident  unfolded  its 
contents.  I  could  not  hesitate  to  choose  my  path.  The 
natural  and  legal  successor  of  Vincentio  Lodi  is  his 
sister.  To  her,  therefore,  this  property  belongs,  and  to 
her  only  will  I  give  it." 

"Presumptuous  boy!  And  this  is  your  sage  decision. 
I  tell  you  that  I  am  the  owner,  and  to  me  you  shall 
render  it.  Who  is  this  girl  ?  Childish  and  ignorant ! 
Unable  to  consult  and  to  act  for  herself  on  the  most  tri 
vial  occasion.  Am  I  not,  by  the  appointment  of  her 
dying  brother,  her  protector  and  guardian  ?  Her  age 
produces  a  legal  incapacity  of  property.  Do  you  ima 
gine  that  so  obvious  an  expedient  as  that  of  procuring 
my  legal  appointment  as  her  guardian  was  overlooked  by 
me  ?  If  it  were  neglected,  still  my  title  to  provide  her 
subsistence  and  enjoyment  is  unquestionable. 

"  Did  I  not  rescue  her  from  poverty,  and  prostitution, 
and  infamy  ?  Have  I  not  supplied  all  her  wants  with 
incessant  solicitude  ?  Whatever  her  condition  required 
has  been  plenteously  supplied.  The  dwelling  and  its 
furniture  was  hers,  as  far  a  rigid  jurisprudence  would 
permit.  To  prescribe  her  expenses  and  govern  her 
family  was  the  province  of  her  guardian. 

"  You  have  heard  the  tale  of  my  anguish  and  despair. 
Whence  did  they  flow  but  from  the  frustration  of  schemes 
projected  for  her  benefit,  as  they  were  executed  with  her 
money  and  by  means  which  the  authority  of  her  guardian 
fully  justified  ?  Why  have  I  encountered  this  contagious 
atmosphere,  and  explored  my  way,  like  a  thief,  to  this 
recess,  but  with  a  view  to  rescue  her  from  poverty  and 
restore  to  her  her  own  ? 

"  Your  scruples  are  ridiculous  and  criminal.  I  treat 
them  with  less  severity,  because  your  youth  is  raw  and 
your  conceptions  crude.  But  if,  after  this  proof  of  the 
justice  of  my  claim,  you  hesitate  to  restore  the  money, 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793. 

I  shall  treat  you  as  a  robber,  who  has  plundered  my 
cabinet  and  refused  to  refund  his  spoil." 

These  reasonings  were  powerful  and  new.  I  was  ac 
quainted  with  the  rights  of  guardianship.  Welbeck  had, 
in  some  respects,  acted  as  the  friend  of  this  lady.  To 
vest  himself  with  this  office  was  the  conduct  which  her 
youth  and  helplessness  prescribed  to  her  friend.  His 
title  to  this  money,  as  her  guardian,  could  not  be  denied. 

But  how  was  this  statement  compatible  with  former 
representations  ?  No  mention  had  then  been  made  of 
guardianship.  By  thus  acting,  he  would  have  thwarted 
all  his  schemes  for  winning  the  esteem  of  mankind  and 
fostering  the  belief  which  the  world  entertained  of  his 
opulence  and  independence. 

I  was  thrown,  by  these  thoughts,  into  considerable  per 
plexity.  If  his  statement  were  true,  his  claim  to  thin 
money  was  established ;  but  I  questioned  its  truth.  To 
intimate  my  doubts  of  his  veracity  would  be  to  provoke 
abhorrence  and  outrage. 

His  last  insinuation  was  peculiarly  momentous.  Sup 
pose  him  the  fraudulent  possessor  of  this  money  :  shall  I 
be  justified  in  taking  it  away  by  violence  under  pretence 
of  restoring  it  to  the  genuine  proprietor,  who,  for  aught 
I  know,  may  be  dead,  or  with  whom,  at  least,  I  may 
never  procure  a  meeting  ?  But  will  not  my  behaviour 
on  this  occasion  be  deemed  illicit  ?  I  entered  Welbeck's 
habitation  at  midnight,  proceeded  to  his  closet,  possessed 
myself  of  portable  property,  and  retired  unobserved.  Is 
not  guilt  imputable  to  an  action  like  this  ? 

Welbeck  waited  with  impatience  for  a  conclusion  to 
my  pause.  My  perplexity  and  indecision  did  not  abate, 
and  my  silence  continued.  At  length,  he  repeated  his 
demands,  with  new  vehemence.  I  was  compelled  to  an 
swer.  I  told  him,  in  few  words,  that  his  reasonings 
had  not  convinced  me  of  the  equity  of  his  claim,  and 
that  my  determination  was  unaltered. 

He  had  not  expected  this  inflexibility  from  one  in  my 
situation.  The  folly  of  opposition,  when  my  feebleness 
and  loneliness  were  contrasted  with  his  activity  and  re 
sources,  appeared  to  him  monstrous  and  glaring ;  but  his 
contempt  was  converted  into  rage  and  fear  when  he  re- 


204  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

fleeted  that  this  folly  might  finally  defeat  his  hopes.  He 
had  probably  determined  to  obtain  the  money,  let  the 
purchase  cost  what  it  would,  but  was  willing  to  exhaust 
pacific  expedients  before  he  should  resort  to  force,  lie 
might  likeAvise  question  whether  the  money  was  within 
his  reach.  I  had  told  him  that  I  had  it,  but  whether  it 
was  now  about  me  was  somewhat  dubious ;  yet,  though 
he  used  no  direct  inquiries,  he  chose  to  proceed  on 
the  supposition  of  its  being  at  hand.  His  angry  tones 
were  now  changed  into  those  of  remonstrance  and  per- 
suasion  : — 

"  Your  present  behaviour,  Mervyn,  does  not  justify 
the  expectation  I  had  formed  of  you.  You  have  been 
guilty  of  a  base  theft.  To  this  you  have  added  the 
deeper  crime  of  ingratitude,  but  your  infatuation  and 
folly  are,  at  least,  as  glaring  as  your  guilt.  Do  you 
think  I  can  credit  your  assertions  that  you  keep  this 
money  for  another,  when  I  recollect  that  six  weeks  have 
passed  since  you  carried  it  oft'?  Why  have  you  not 
sought  the  owner  and  restored  it  to  her  ?  If  your  in 
tentions  had  been  honest,  would  you  have  suffered  so  long 
a  time  to  elapse  without  doing  this  ?  It  is  plain  that  you 
designed  to  keep  it  for  your  own  use. 

"But,  whether  this  were  your  purpose  or  not,  you 
have  no  longer  power  to  restore  it  or  retain  it.  You 
say  that  you  came  hither  to  die.  If  so,  what  is  to  be 
the  fate  of  the  money  ?  In  your  present  situation  you 
cannot  gain  access  to  the  lady.  Some  other  must  in 
herit  this  wealth.  Next  to  Hignora  Lodi,  whose  right 
can  be  put  in  competition  with  mine  ?  But,  if  you  will 
not  give  it  to  me  on  my  own  account,  let  it  be  given  in 
trust  for  her.  Let  me  be  the  bearer  of  it  to  her  own 
hands.  I  have  already  shown  you  that  my  claim  to  it, 
as  her  guardian,  is  legal  and  incontrovertible,  but  this 
claim  I  waive.  I  will  merely  be  the  executor  of  your 
will.  I  will  bind  myself  to  comply  with  your  directions 
by  any  oath,  however  solemn  and  tremendous,  which 
you  shall  prescribe." 

As  long  as  my  own  heart  acquitted  me,  these  imputa 
tions  of  dishonesty  affected  me  but  little.  They  excited 
no  anger,  because  they  originated  in  ignorance,  and 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  2CK 

were  rendered  plausible  to  Welbeck  by  such  facts  as 
were  known  to  him.  It  was  needless  to  confute  the 
charge  by  elaborate  and  circumstantial  details. 

It  was  true  that  my  recovery  was,  in  the  highest  de 
gree,  improbable,  and  that  my  death  would  put  an  end 
to  ray  power  over  this  money ;  but  had  I  not  determined 
to  secure  its  useful  application  in  case  of  my  death  ? 
This  project  was  obstructed  by  the  presence  of  Wel 
beck  ;  but  I  hoped  that  his  love  of  life  would  induce  him 
to  fly.  He  might  wrest  this  volume  from  me  by  violence, 
or  he  might  wait  till  my  death  should  give  him  peace 
able  possession.  But  these,  though  probable  events, 
were  not  certain,  and  would,  by  no  means,  justify  the 
voluntary  surrender.  His  strength,  if  employed  for  this 
end,  could  not  be  resisted ;  but  then  it  would  be  a  sacri 
fice,  not  a  choice,  but  necessity. 

Promises  were  easily  given,  but  were  surely  not  to  be 
confided  in.  Welbeck's  own  tale,  in  which  it  could  not 
be  imagined  that  he  had  aggravated  his  defects,  attested 
the  frailty  of  his  virtue.  To  put  into  his  hands  a  sum 
like  this,  in  expectation  of  his  delivering  it  to  another, 
when  my  death  would  cover  the  transaction  with  impene 
trable  secrecy,  would  be,  indeed,  a  proof  of  that  infatua 
tion  which  he  thought  proper  to  impute  to  me. 

These  thoughts  influenced  my  resolutions,  but  they 
were  revolved  in  silence.  To  state  them  verbally  was 
useless.  They  would  not  justify  my  conduct  in  his  eyes. 
They  would  only  exasperate  dispute,  and  impel  him  to 
those  acts  of  violence  which  I  was  desirous  of  prevent 
ing.  The  sooner  this  controversy  should  end,  and  I  in 
any  measure  be  freed  from  the  obstruction  of  his  com 
pany,  the  better. 

"Mr.  Welbeck,"  said  I,  "my  regard  to  your  safety 
compels  me  to  wish  that  this  interview  should  terminate. 
At  a  different  time,  I  should  not  be  unwilling  to  discuss 
this  matter.  Now  it  will  be  fruitless.  My  conscience 
"points  out  to  me  too  clearly  the  path  I  should  pursue 
for  me  to  mistake  it.  As  long  as  I  have  power  over  this 
jioney,  I  shall  keep  it  for  the  use  of  the  unfortunate 
lady  whom  I  have  seen  in  this  house.  I  shall  exert 
myself  to  find  her ;  but,  if  that  be  impossible,  I  shall 


206  ARTHUR  MERVYN. 

appropriate  it  in  a  way  in  which  you  shall  have  nc 
participation." 

I  will  not  repeat  the  contest  that  succeeded  between 
my  forbearance  and  his  passions.  I  listened  to  the  dic 
tates  of  his  rage  and  his  avarice  in  silence.  Astonish 
ment  at  my  inflexibility  was  blended  with  his  anger.  By 
turns  he  commented  on  the  guilt  and  on  the  folly  of  my 
resolutions.  Sometimes  his  emotions  would  mount  into 
fury,  and  he  would  approach  me  in  a  menacing  attitude, 
and  lift  his  hand  as  if  he  would  exterminate  me  at  a 
blow.  My  languid  eyes,  my  cheeks  glowing  and  my 
temples  throbbing  with  fever,  and  my  total  passiveness, 
attracted  his  attention  and  arrested  his  stroke.  Com 
passion  would  take  the  place  of  rage,  and  the  belief  be 
revived  that  remonstrances  and  arguments  would  answer 
his  purpose. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THIS  scene  lasted  I  know  not  how  long.  Insensibly 
the  passions  and  reasonings  of  Welbeck  assumed  a  new 
form.  A  grief,  mingled  with  perplexity,  overspread  his 
countenance.  He  ceased  to  contend  or  to  speak.  His 
regards  were  withdrawn  from  me,  on  whom  they  had 
hitherto  been  fixed ;  and,  wandering  or  vacant,  testified 
a  conflict  of  mind  terrible  beyond  any  that  my  young 
imagination  had  ever  conceived. 

For  a  time  he  appeared  to  be  unconscious  of  my  pre 
sence.  He  moved  to  and  fro  with  unequal  steps,  and 
with  gesticulations  that  possessed  a  horrible  but  indis 
tinct  significance.  Occasionally  he  struggled  for  breath, 
and  his  efforts  were  directed  to  remove  some  choking 
impediment. 

No  test  of  my  fortitude  had  hitherto  occurred  equal 
to  that  to  which  it  was  now  subjected.  The  suspicion 
which  this  deportment  suggested  was  vague  and  form 
less.  The  tempest  which  I  witnessed  was  the  prelude 
of  horror.  These  were  throes  which  would  terminate  in 
the  birth  of  some  gigantic  and  sanguinary  purpose.  Did 
he  meditate  to  offer  a  bloody  sacrifice  ?  Was  his  own 
death  or  was  mine  to  attest  the  magnitude  of  his  despair 
or  the  impetuosity  of  his  vengeance  ? 

Suicide  was  familiar  to  his  thoughts.  He  had  con 
sented  to  live  but  on  one  condition;  that  of  regaining 
possession  of  this  money.  Should  I  be  justified  in  driving 
him,  by  my  obstinate  refusal,  to  this  fatal  consummation 
of  his  crimes  ?  Yet  my  fear  of  this  catastrophe  was 
groundless.  Hitherto  he  had  argued  and  persuaded ; 
but  this  method  was  pursued  because  it  was  more  eligible 
than  the  employment  of  force,  or  than  procrastination. 

207 


2O8  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

No.  These  were  tokens  that  pointed  to  me.  Some 
unknown  instigation  was  at  work  within  him,  to  tear 
away  his  remnant  of  humanity  and  fit  him  for  the  office 
of  my  murderer.  I  knew  not  how  the  accumulation  of 
guilt  could  contribute  to  his  gratification  or  security. 
His  actions  had  been  partially  exhibited  and  vaguely 
scon.  What  extenuations  or  omissions  had  vitiated  his 
foi  mer  or  recent  narrative ;  how  far  his  actual  perform 
ances  were  congenial  with  the  deed  which  was  now  to  be 
perpetrated,  I  knew  not. 

These  thoughts  lent  new  rapidity  to  my  blood.  I 
raised  my  head  from  the  pillow,  and  watched  the  deport 
ment  of  this  man  with  deeper  attention.  The  paroxysm 
which  controlled  him  at  length,  in  some  degree,  sub 
sided.  He  muttered,  "Yes.  It  must  come.  My  last 
humiliation  must  cover  me.  My  last  confession  must  be 
made.  To  die,  and  leave  behind  me  this  train  of  enor 
mous  perils,  must  not  be. 

"  0  Clemenza  !  0  Mervyn  !  Ye  have  not  merited 
that  I  should  leave  you  a  legacy  of  persecution  and 
death.  Your  safety  must  be  purchased  at  what  price 
my  malignant  destiny  will  set  upon  it.  The  cord  of  the 
executioner,  the  note  of  everlasting  infamy,  is  better 
than  to  leave  you  beset  by  the  consequences  of  my  guilt. 
It  must  not  be." 

Saying  this,  Welbeck  cast  fearful  glances  at  the  win 
dows  and  door.  He  examined  every  avenue  and  listened. 
Thrice  he  repeated  this  scrutiny.  Having,  as  it  seemed, 
ascertained  that  no  one  lurked  within  audience,  he  ap 
proached  the  bed.  He  put  his  mouth  close  to  my  face. 
He  attempted  to  speak,  but  once  more  examined  the 
apartment  with  suspicious  glances. 

He  drew  closer,  and  at  length,  in  a  tone  scarcely  arti 
culate,  and  suffocated  with  emotion,  he  spoke  : — "Excel 
lent  but  fatally-obstinate  youth !  Know  at  least  the 
cause  of  my  importunity.  Know  at  least  the  depth  of 
my  infatuation  and  the  enormity  of  my  guilt. 

"The  bills — surrender  them  to  me,  and  save  yourself 
from  persecution  arid  disgrace.  Save  the  woman  whom 
you  wish  to  benefit,  from  the  blackest  imputations ;  from 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  2CX) 

hazard  to  her  life  and  her  fame;   from  languishing  in 
dungeons  ;  from  expiring  on  the  gallows  ! 

"  The  bills — oh,  save  me  from  the  bitterness  of  death ! 
Let  the  evils  to  which  my  miserable  life  has  given  birth 

terminate  here  and  in  myself.     Surrender  them  to  me, 

e  » 

for 

There  he  stopped.  His  utterence  was  choked  by 
terror.  Rapid  glances  were  again  darted  at  the  win 
dows  and  door.  The  silence  was  uninterrupted,  except 
by  far-oif  sounds,  produced  by  some  moving  carriage. 
Once  more  he  summoned  resolution,  and  spoke : — 

"Surrender  them  to  me — for — they  are  forged! 

"  Formerly  I  told  you,  that  a  scheme  of  forgery  had 
been  conceived.  Shame  would  not  suffer  me  to  add,  that 
my  scheme  was  carried  into  execution.  The  bills  were 
fashioned,  but  my  fears  contended  against  my  necessities, 
and  forbade  me  to  attempt  to  exchange  them.  The  in 
terview  with  Lodi  saved  me  from  the  dangerous  experi 
ment.  I  enclosed  them  in  that  volume,  as  the  means  of 
future  opulence,  to  be  used  when  all  other  and  less 
hazardous  resources  should  fail. 

"  In  the  agonies  of  my  remorse  at  the  death  of  Wat 
son,  they  were  forgotten.  They  afterwards  recurred  to 
recollection.  My  wishes  pointed  to  the  grave;  but  the 
stroke  that  should  deliver  me  from  life  was  suspended 
only  till  I  could  hasten  hither,  get  possession  of  these 
papers,  and  destroy  them. 

"When  I  thought  upon  the  chances  that  should  give 
them  an  owner;  bring  them  into  circulation;  load  the 
innocent  with  suspicion;  and  lead  them  to  trial,  and, 
perhaps,  to  death,  my  sensations  were  fraught  with 
agony ;  earnestly  as  I  panted  for  death,  it  was  necessarily 
deferred  till  I  had  gained  possession  of  and  destroyed 
these  papers. 

"  What  now  remains  ?  You  have  found  them.  Happily 
they  have  not  been  used.  Give  them,  therefore,  to  me, 
that  I  may  crush  at  once  the  brood  of  mischiefs  which 
they  could  not  but  generate." 

This  disclosure  was  strange.  It  was  accompanied  with 
every  token  of  sincerity.  How  had  I  tottered  on  the 
brink  of  destruction !  If  I  had  made  use  of  this  money, 
14 


2IO  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

in  what  a  labyrinth  of  misery  might  I  not  have  been 
involved  !  My  innocence  could  never  have  been  proved. 
An  alliance  with  "Welbeck  could  not  have  failed  to  be  in 
ferred.  My  career  would  have  found  an  ignominious 
close;  or,  if  my  punishment  had  been  transmuted  into 
slavery  and  toil,  would  the  testimony  of  my  conscience 
have  supported  me? 

I  shuddered  at  the  view  of  those  disasters  from  which 
I  was  rescued  by  the  miraculous  chance  which  led  me  to 
this  house.  Welbeck'i  request  was  salutary  to  me  and 
honourable  to  himself.  I  could  not  hesitate  a  moment 
in  compliance.  The  notes  were  enclosed  in  paper,  and 
deposited  in  a  fold  of  my  clothes.  I  put  my  hand  upon 
them. 

My  motion  and  attention  were  arrested,  at  the  instant, 
by  a  noise  which  arose  in  the  street.  Footsteps  were 
heard  upon  the  pavement  before  the  door,  and  voices,  as 
if  busy  in  discourse.  This  incident  was  adapted  to  in 
fuse  the  deepest  alarm  into  myself  and  my  companion. 
The  motives  of  our  trepidation  were,  indeed,  different, 
and  were  infinitely  more  powerful  in  my  case  than  in  his. 
It  portended  to  me  nothing  less  than  the  loss  of  my 
asylum,  and  condemnation  to  an  hospital. 

Welbeck  hurried  to  the  door,  to  listen  to  the  conversa 
tion  below.  This  interval  was  pregnant  with  thought. 
That  impulse  which  led  my  reflections  from  Welbeck  to 
my  own  state  passed  away  in  a  moment,  and  suffered  me 
to  meditate  anew  upon  the  terms  of  that  confession 
which  had  just  been  made. 

Horror  at  the  fate  which  this  interview  had  enabled 
me  to  shun  was  uppermost  in  my  conceptions.  I  was 
eager  to  surrender  these  fatal  bills.  I  held  them  for 
that  purpose  in  my  hand,  and  was  impatient  for  Welbeck 's 
return.  He  continued  at  the  door;  stooping,  with  his 
face  averted,  and  eagerly  attentive  to  the  conversation 
in  the  street. 

All  the  circumstances  of  my  present  situation  tended 
to  arrest  the  progress  of  thought  and  chain  my  con 
templations  to  one  image;  but  even  now  there  was  room 
for  foresight  and  deliberation.  Welbeck  intended  to 
destroy  these  bills.  Perhaps  he  had  not  been  sincere; 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  211 

or,  if  his  purpose  had  been  honestly  disclosed,  this  pur 
pose  might  change  when  the  bills  were  in  his  possession. 
His  poverty  and  sanguineness  of  temper  might  prompt 
him  to  use  them. 

That  this  conduct  was  evil,  and  would  only  multiply 
his  miseries,  could  not  be  questioned.  Why  should  I 
subject  his  frailty  to  this  temptation?  The  destruction 
of  these  bills  was  the  loudest  injunction  of  my  duty ; 
was  demanded  by  every  sanction  which  bound  me  to  pro 
mote  the  welfare  of  mankind. 

The  means  of  destruction  was  easy.  A  lighted  candle 
stood  on  a  table,  at  the  distance  of  a  few  yards.  Why 
should  I  hesitate  a  moment  to  annihilate  so  powerful  a 
cause  of  error  and  guilt  ?  A  passing  instant  was  sufficient. 
A  momentary  lingering  might  change  the  circumstances 
that  surrounded  me,  and  frustrate  my  project. 

My  languors  were  suspended  by  the  urgencies  of  this 
occasion.  I  started  from  my  bed  and  glided  to  the  table. 
Seizing  the  notes  with  my  right  hand,  I  held  them  in 
the  flame  of  the  candle,  and  then  threw  them,  blazing, 
on  the  floor. 

The  sudden  illumination  was  perceived  by  Welbeck. 
The  cause  of  it  appeared  to  suggest  itself  as  soon.  He 
turned,  and,  marking  the  paper  where  it  lay,  leaped  to 
the  spot,  and  extinguished  the  fire  with  his  foot.  His 
interposition  was  too  late.  Only  enough  of  them  re 
mained  to  inform  him  of  the  nature  of  the  sacrifice. 

Welbeck  now  stood,  with  limbs  trembling,  features 
aghast,  and  eyes  glaring  upon  me.  For  a  time  he  was 
without  speech.  The  storm  was  gathering  in  silence, 
and  at  length  burst  upon  me.  In  a  tone  menacing  and 
loud,  he  exclaimed, — 

"Wretch!  what  have  you  done ?" 

"I  have  done  justly.  These  notes  were  false.  You 
desired  to  destroy  them,  that  they  might  not  betray  the 
innocent.  I  applauded  your  purpose,  and  have  saved  you 
from  the  danger  of  temptation  by  destroying  them 
myself." 

"Maniac!  Miscieant!  To  befooled  by  so  gross  an 
artifice!  The  notes  were  genuine.  The  tale  of  their 
forgery  was  false  and  meant  only  to  wrest  them  from 


212  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

you.  Execrable  and  perverse  idiot!  Your  deed  has 
sealed  my  perdition.  It  has  sealed  your  own.  You 
shall  pay  for  it  with  your  blood.  I  will  slay  you  by 
inches.  I  will  stretch  you,  as  you  have  stretched  mo, 
on  the  rack." 

During  this  speech,  all  was  frenzy  and  storm  in  the 
countenance  and  features  of  Welbeck.  Nothing  less 
could  be  expected  than  that  the  scene  would  terminate 
in  some  bloody  catastrophe.  I  bitterly  regretted  the 
facility  with  which  I  had  been  deceived,  and  the  pre 
cipitation  of  my  sacrifice.  The  act,  however  lamentable, 
could  not  be  revoked.  What  remained  but  to  encounter 
or  endure  its  consequences  with  unshrinking  firmness? 

The  contest  was  too  unequal.  It  is  possible  that  the 
frenzy  which  actuated  Welbeck  might  have  speedily  sub 
sided.  It  is  more  likely  that  his  passions  would  have 
been  satiated  with  nothing  but  my  death.  This  event 
was  precluded  by  loud  knocks  at  the  street  door,  and 
calls  by  some  one  on  the  pavement  without,  of — "  Who 
is  within?  Is  any  one  within?" 

These  noises  gave  a  new  direction  to  Welbeck's  thoughts. 
"They  are  coming,"  said  he.  "They  will  treat  you  as 
a  sick  man  and  a  thief.  I  cannot  desire  you  to  suffer  a 
worse  evil  than  they  will  inflict.  I  leave  you  to  your 
fate."  So  saying,  he  rushed  out  of  the  room. 

Though  confounded  and  stunned  by  this  rapid  suc 
cession  of  events,  I  was  yet  able  to  pursue  measures  for 
eluding  these  detested  visitants.  I  first  extinguished 
the  light,  and  then,  observing  that  the  parley  in  the 
street  continued  and  grew  louder,  I  sought  an  asylum  in 
the  remotest  corner  of  the  house.  During  my  former 
abode  here,  I  noticed  that  a  trap-door  opened  in  the  ceil 
ing  of  the  third  story,  to  which  you  were  conducted  by 
a  movable  stair  or  ladder.  I  considered  that  this,  pro 
bably,  was  an  opening  into  a  narrow  and  darksome  nook 
formed  by  the  angle  of  the  roof.  By  ascending,  draw 
ing  after  me  the  ladder,  and  closing  the  door,  1  should 
escape  the  most  vigilant  search. 

Enfeebled  as  I  was  by  my  disease,  my  resolution 
rendered  me  strenuous.  I  gained  the  uppermost  room, 
and,  mounting  the  ladder,  found  myself  at  a  sufficient 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR   1793.  213 

distance  from  suspicion.  The  stair  was  hastily  drawn 
up,  and  the  door  closed.  In  a  few  minutes,  however, 
my  new  retreat  proved  to  be  worse  than  any  for  which 
it  was  possible  to  change  it.  The  air  was  musty,  stag 
nant,  and  scorchingly  hot.  My  breathing  became  diffi 
cult,  and  I  saw  that  to  remain  here  ten  minutes  would 
unavoidably  produce  suffocation. 

My  terror  of  intruders  had  rendered  me  blind  to  the 
consequences  of  immuring  myself  in  this  cheerless  re 
cess.  It  was  incumbent  on  me  to  extricate  myself  as 
speedily  as  possible.  I  attempted  to  lift  the  door.  My 
first  effort  was  successless.  Every  inspiration  was  quicker 
and  more  difficult  than  the  former.  As  my  terror,  so 
my  strength  and  my  exertions  increased.  Finally  my 
trembling  hand  lighted  on  a  nail  that  was  imperfectly 
driven  into  the  wood,  and  which,  by  affording  me  a  firmer 
hold,  enabled  me  at  length  to  raise  it,  and  to  inhale  the 
air  from  beneath. 

Relieved  from  my  new  peril  by  this  situation,  I  bent 
an  attentive  ear  through  the  opening,  with  a  view  to 
ascertain  if  the  house  had  been  entered  or  if  the  outer 
door  was  still  beset,  but  could  hear  nothing.  Hence  I 
was  authorized  to  conclude  that  the  people  had  departed, 
and  that  I  might  resume  my  former  station  without 
hazard. 

Before  I  descended,  however,  I  cast  a  curious  eye 
over  this  recess.  It  was  large  enough  to  accommodate 
a  human  being.  The  means  by  which  it  was  entered 
were  easily  concealed.  Though  narrow  and  low,  it  was 
long,  and,  were  it  possible  to  contrive  some  inlet  for  the 
air,  one  studious  of  concealment  might  rely  on  its  pro 
tection  with  unbounded  confidence. 

My  scrutiny  was  imperfect  by  reason  of  the  faint 
light  which  found  its  way  through  the  opening;  yet  it 
was  sufficient  to  set  me  afloat  on  a  sea  of  new  wonders 
and  subject  my  fortitude  to  a  new  test. — 

Here  Mcrvyn  paused  in  his  narrative.  A  minute 
passed  in  silence  and  seeming  indecision.  His  perplexi 
ties  gradually  disappeared,  and  he  continued  : — 

I  have  promised  to  relate  the  momentous  incidents  of 


214  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OK, 

ray  life,  and  have  hitherto  been  faithful  in  my  enumera 
tion.  There  is  nothing  which  I  more  detest  than  equivo 
cation  and  mystery.  Perhaps,  however,  I  shall  now 
incur  some  imputation  of  that  kind.  I  would  willingly 
escape  the  accusation,  but  confess  that  I  am  hopeless  of 
escaping  it. 

I  might,  indeed,  have  precluded  your  guesses  and  sur 
mises  by  omitting  to  relate  what  befell  me  from  the  time 
of  my  leaving  my  chamber  till  I  regained  it.  I  might 
deceive  you  by  asserting  that  nothing  remarkable  oc 
curred  ;  but  this  would  be  false,  and  every  sacrifice  is 
trivial  which  is  made  upon  the  altar  of  sincerity.  Be 
sides,  the  time  may  come  when  no  inconvenience  will 
arise  from  minute  descriptions  of  the  objects  which  I 
now  saw,  and  of  the  reasonings  and  inferences  which 
they  suggested  to  my  understanding.  At  present,  it 
appears  to  be  my  duty  to  pass  them  over  in  silence  ;  but 
it  would  be  needless  to  conceal  from  you  that  the  inter 
val,  though  short,  and  the  scrutiny,  though  hasty,  fur 
nished  matter  which  my  curiosity  devoured  with  un 
speakable  eagerness,  and  from  which  consequences  may 
hereafter  flow,  deciding  on  my  peace  and  my  life. 

Nothing,  however,  occurred  which  could  detain  me 
long  in  this  spot.  I  once  more  sought  the  lower  story 
and  threw  myself  on  the  bed  which  I  had  left.  My 
mind  was  thronged  with  the  images  flowing  from  my  late 
adventure.  My  fever  had  gradually  increased,  and  my 
thoughts  were  deformed  by  inaccuracy  and  confusion. 

My  heart  did  not  sink  when  I  reverted  to  my  own 
condition.  That  I  should  quickly  be  disabled  from 
moving,  was  readily  perceived.  The  foresight  of  my 
destiny  was  steadfast  and  clear.  To  linger  for  days  in 
this  comfortless  solitude,  to  ask  in  vain,  not  for  powerful 
restoratives  or  alleviating  cordials,  but  for  water  to 
moisten  my  burning  lips  and  abate  the  torments  of 
thirst;  ultimately  to  expire  in  torpor  or  frenzy,  was 
the  fate  to  which  I  looked  forward  ;  yet  I  was  not  terri 
fied.  I  seemed  to  be  sustained  by  a  preternatural  en 
ergy.  I  felt  as  if  the  opportunity  of  combating  such 
evils  was  an  enviable  privilege,  and,  though  none  would 
witness  my  victorious  magnanimity,  yet  to  be  conscious 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  /70J.  21$ 

that  praise  was  my  due  was  all  that  my  ambition  re 
quired. 

These  sentiments  were  doubtless  tokens  of  delirium. 
The  excruciating  agonies  which  now  seized  upon  my 
head,  and  the  cord  which  seemed  to  be  drawn  across  my 
breast,  and  which,  as  my  fancy  imagined,  was  tightened 
by  some  forcible  hand,  with  a  view  to  strangle  me,  were 
incompatible  with  sober  and  coherent  views. 

Thirst  was  the  evil  which  chiefly  oppressed  me.  The 
means  of  relief  was  pointed  out  by  nature  and  habit. 
I  rose,  and  determined  to  replenish  my  pitcher  at  the 
well.  It  was  easier,  however,  to  descend  than  to  return. 
My  limbs  refused  to  bear  me,  and  I  sat  down  upon  the 
lower  step  of  the  staircase.  Several  hours  had  elapsed 
since  my  entrance  into  this  dwelling,  and  it  was  now 
night. 

My  imagination  now  suggested  a  new  expedient. 
Medlicote  was  a  generous  and  fearless  spirit.  To  put 
myself  under  his  protection,  if  I  could  walk  as  far  as 
his  lodgings,  was  the  wisest  proceeding  which  I  could 
adopt.  From  this  design,  my  incapacity  to  walk  thus 
far,  and  the  consequences  of  being  discovered  in  the 
street,  had  hitherto  deterred  me.  These  impediments 
were  now,  in  the  confusion  of  my  understanding,  over 
looked  or  despised,  and  I  forthwith  set  out  upon  this 
hopeless  expedition. 

The  doors  communicating  with  the  court,  and,  through 
the  court,  with  the  street,  were  fastened  by  inside  bolts. 
These  were  easily  withdrawn,  and  I  issued  forth  with 
alacrity  and  confidence.  My  perturbed  senses  and  the 
darkness  hindered  me  from  discerning  the  right  way.  I 
was  conscious  of  this  difficulty,  but  was  not  disheartened. 
I  proceeded,  as  I  have  since  discovered,  in  a  direction 
different  from  the  true,  but  hesitated  not  till  my  powers 
were  exhausted  and  I  sunk  upon  the  ground.  I  closed 
my  eyes,  and  dismissed  all  fear,  and  all  foresight  of 
futurity.  In  this  situation  I  remained  some  hours,  and 
should  probably  have  expired  on  this  spot,  had  not  I 
attracted  your  notice,  and  been  provided,  under  this 
roof,  with  all  that  medical  skill,  that  the  tcnderest 
humanity  could  suggest. 


2l6  ARTHUR  MERVYN. 

In  consequence  of  your  care,  I  have  been  restored  to 
life  and  to  health.  Your  conduct  was  not  influenced  by 
the  prospect  of  pecuniary  recompense,  of  service,  or 
of  gratitude.  It  is  only  in  one  way  that  I  am  able  to 
heighten  the  gratification  which  must  flow  from  reflection 
on  your  conduct : — by  showing  that  the  being  whose  life 
you  have  prolonged,  though  uneducated,  ignorant,  and 
poor,  is  not  profligate  and  worthless,  and  will  not  dedi 
cate  that  life  which  your  bounty  has  given,  to  mischiev 
ous  or  contemptible  purposes. 


END    OF    VOL   I. 


ARTHUR  MERVYN; 


OR, 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE  YEAR    1793 


VOL.  II. 


ARTHUR  MERVYN. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

HERE  ended  the  narrative  of  Mervyn.  Surely  its 
incidents  were  of  no  common  kind.  During  this  season 
of  pestilence,  my  opportunities  of  observation  had  been 
numerous,  and  I  had  not  suffered  them  to  pass  unim 
proved.  The  occurrences  which  fell  within  my  own  ex 
perience  bore  a  general  resemblance  to  those  which  had 
just  been  related,  but  they  did  not  hinder  the  latter 
from  striking  on  my  mind  with  all  the  force  of  novelty. 
They  served  no  end,  but  as  vouchers  for  the  truth  of 
the  tale. 

Surely  the  youth  had  displayed  inimitable  and  heroic 
qualities.  His  courage  was  the  growth  of  benevolence 
and  reason,  and  not  the  child  of  insensibility  and  the 
nursling  of  habit.  He  had  been  qualified  for  the  en 
counter  of  gigantic  dangers  by  no  laborious  education. 
He  stepped  forth  upon  the  stage,  unfurnished,  by  antici 
pation  or  experience,  with  the  means  of  security  against 
fraud ;  and  yet,  by  the  aid  of  pure  intentions,  had  frus 
trated  the  wiles  of  an  accomplished  and  veteran  deceiver. 

I  blessed  the  chance  which  placed  the  youth  under  my 
protection.  When  I  reflected  on  that  tissue  of  nice  con 
tingencies  which  led  him  to  my  door,  and  enabled  me  to 
save  from  death  a  being  of  such  rare  endowments,  my 
heart  overflowed  with  joy,  not  unmingled  with  regrets 
and  trepidation.  How  many  have  been  cut  off  by  this 
disease,  in  their  career  of  virtue  and  their  blossom-time 
of  genius  !  How  many  deeds  of  heroism  and  self-devo 
tion  are  ravished  from  existence,  and  consigned  to  hope 
less  oblivion ! 

8 


4  ARTHUR  MERVYX  ;    OR, 

I  had  saved  the  life  of  this  youth.  Tin's  was  not  the 
limit  of  my  duty  or  my  power.  Could  I  not  render  that 
life  profitable  to  himself  and  to  mankind  ?  The  gains  of 
my  profession  were  slender;  but  these  gains  were  suffi 
cient  for  his  maintenance  as  well  as  my  own.  By  residing 
with  me,  partaking  my  instructions,  and  reading  my 
books,  he  would,  in  a  few  years,  be  fitted  for  the  practice 
of  physic.  A  science  whose  truths  are  so  conducive  to 
the  welfare  of  mankind,  and  which  comprehends  the 
whole  system  of  nature,  could  not  but  gratify  a  mind  so 
beneficent  and  strenuous  as  his. 

This  scheme  occurred  to  me  as  soon  as  the  conclusion 
of  his  tale  allowed  me  to  think.  I  did  not  immediately 
mention  it,  since  the  approbation  of  my  wife,  of  whose 
concurrence,  however,  I  entertained  no  doubt,  was  pre 
viously  to  be  obtained.  Dismissing  it,  for  the  present, 
from  my  thoughts,  I  reverted  to  the  incidents  of  his  tale. 

The  lady  whom  Welbeck  had  betrayed  and  deserted 
was  not  unknown  to  me.  I  was  but  too  well  acquainted 
with  her  fate.  If  she  had  been  single  in  calamity,  her 
tale  would  have  been  listened  to  with  insupportable  sym 
pathy;  but  the  frequency  of  the  spectacle  of  distress 
seems  to  lesson  the  compassion  with  which  it  is  reviewed. 
Now  that  those  scenes  are  only  remembered,  rny  anguish 
is  greater  than  when  they  were  witnessed.  Then  every 
new  day  was  only  a  repetition  of  the  disasters  of  the 
foregoing.  My  sensibility,  if  not  extinguished,  was 
blunted ;  and  I  gazed  upon  the  complicated  ills  of  po 
verty  and  sickness  with  a  degree  of  unconcern  on  which 
I  should  once  have  reflected  with  astonishment. 

The  fate  of  Clcmenza  Lodi  was  not,  perhaps,  more 
signal  than  many  which  have  occurred.  It  threw  detest 
able  light  upon  the  character  of  Welbeck,  and  showed 
him  to  be  more  inhuman  than  the  tale  of  Mervyn  had 
evinced  him  to  be.  That  man,  indeed,  was  hitherto  im 
perfectly  seen.  The  time  had  not  come  which  should 
fully  unfold  the  enormity  of  his  transgressions  and  the 
complexity  of  his  frauds. 

There  lived  in  a  remote  quarter  of  the  city  a  woman, 
by  name  Villars,  who  passed  for  the  widow  of  an  Eng 
lish  officer.  Her  manners  and  mode  of  living  were  spe- 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  f?<?j.  5 

cious.  She  had  three  daughters,  well  trained  in  the 
school  of  fashion,  and  elegant  in  person,  manners,  and 
dress.  They  had  lately  arrived  from  Europe,  and,  for  a 
time,  received  from  their  neighbours  that  respect  to  which 
their  education  and  fortune  appeared  to  lay  claim. 

The  fallacy  of  their  pretensions  slowly  appeared.  It 
began  to  be  suspected  that  their  subsistence  was  derived 
not  from  pension  or  patrimony,  but  from  the  wages  of 
pollution.  Their  habitation  was  clandestinely  frequented 
by  men  who  were  unfaithful  to  their  secret ;  one  of  these 
was  allied  to  me  by  ties  which  authorized  me  in  watching 
his  steps  and  detecting  his  errors,  with  a  view  to  his  re 
formation.  From  him  I  obtained  a  knowledge  of  the 
genuine  character  of  these  women. 

A  man  like  Welbeck,  who  was  the  slave  of  depraved 
appetites,  could  not  fail  of  being  quickly  satiated  with 
innocence  and  beauty.  Some  accident  introduced  him  to 
the  knowledge  of  this  family,  and  the  youngest  daughter 
found  him  a  proper  subject  on  which  to  exercise  her 
artifices.  It  was  to  the  frequent  demands  made  upon 
his  purse,  by  this  woman,  that  part  of  the  embarrass 
ments  in  which  Mervyn  found  him  involved  are  to  be 
ascribed. 

To  this  circumstance  must  likewise  be  imputed  his 
anxiety  to  transfer  to  some  other  the  possession  of  the 
unhappy  stranger.  Why  he  concealed  from  Mervyn  his 
connection  with  Lucy  Villars  may  be  easily  imagined. 
His  silence  with  regard  to  Clemenza's  asylum  will  not 
create  surprise,  when  it  was  told  that  she  was  placed 
with  Mrs.  Villars.  On  what  conditions  she  was  received 
under  this  roof,  cannot  be  so  readily  conjectured.  It  is 
obvious,  however,  to  suppose  that  advantage  was  to  be 
taken  of  her  ignorance  and  weakness,  and  that  they 
hoped,  in  time,  to  make  her  an  associate  in  their  profli 
gate  schemes. 

The  appearance  of  pestilence,  meanwhile,  threw  them 
into  panic,  and  they  hastened  to  remove  from  danger. 
Mrs.  Villars  appears  to  have  been  a  woman  of  no  ordi 
nary  views.  She  stooped  to  the  vilest  means  of  amass 
ing  money;  but  this  money  was  employed  to  secure  to 
herself  and  her  daughters  the  benefits  of  independence. 


6  ARTHUR   MERVYX;    OR, 

She  purchased  the  house  which  she  occupied  in  the  city, 
and  a  mansion  in  the  environs,  well  huilt  and  splendidly 
furnished.  To  the  latter,  she  and  her  family,  of  which  the 
Italian  girl  was  now  a  member,  retired  at  the  close  of  July. 

I  have  mentioned  that  the  source  of  my  intelligence 
was  a  kinsman,  who  had  been  drawn  from  the  paths  of 
sobriety  and  rectitude  by  the  impetuosity  of  youthful 
passions.  He  had  power  to  confess  and  deplore,  but 
none  to  repair,  his  errors.  One  of  these  women  held 
him  by  a  spell  which  he  struggled  in  vain  to  dissolve, 
and  by  which,  in  spite  of  resolutions  and  remorses,  he 
was  drawn  to  her  feet,  and  made  to  sacrifice  to  her  plea 
sure  his  reputation  and  his  fortune. 

My  house  was  his  customary  abode  during  those  inter 
vals  in  which  he  was  persuaded  to  pursue  his  profession. 
Some  time  before  the  infection  began  its  progress,  he 
had  disappeared.  No  tidings  were  received  of  him,  till 
a  messenger  arrived,  entreating  my  assistance.  I  was 
conducted  to  the  house  of  Mrs.  Villars,  in  which  I  found 
no  one  but  my  kinsman.  Here,  it  seems,  he  had  im 
mured  himself  from  my  inquiries,  and,  on  being  seized 
by  the  reigning  malady,  had  been  deserted  by  the  family, 
who,  ere  they  departed,  informed  me  by  a  messenger  of 
his  condition. 

Despondency  combined  with  his  disease  to  destroy  him. 
Before  he  died,  he  informed  me  fully  of  the  character  of 
his  betrayers.  The  late  arrival,  name,  and  personal  con 
dition  of  Clemen za  Lodi  were  related.  Welbeck  was  not 
named,  but  was  described  in  terms  which,  combined  with 
the  narrative  of  Mervyn,  enabled  me  to  recognise  the 
paramour  of  Lucy  Villars  in  the  man  whose  crimes  had 
been  the  principal  theme  of  our  discourse. 

Mervyn's  curiosity  was  greatly  roused  when  I  inti 
mated  my  acquaintance  with  the  fate  of  Clemenza.  In 
answer  to  his  eager  interrogations,  I  related  what  I  knew. 
The  tale  plunged  him  into  reverie.  Recovering,  at  length, 
from  his  thoughtfulness,  he  spoke  : — 

"  Her  condition  is  perilous.  The  poverty  of  Welbeck 
will  drive  him  far  fiorn  her  abode.  Her  profligate  pro 
tectors  will  entice  her  or  abandon  her  to  ruin.  Cannot 
she  be  saved?" 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  J 

"I  know  not,"  answered  I,  "by  what  means." 

"The  means  are  obvious.  Let  her  remove  to  some 
other  dwelling.  Let  her  be  apprized  of  the  vices  of 
those  who  surround  her.  Let  her  be  entreated  to  fly. 
The  will  need  only  be  inspired,  the  danger  need  only  be 
shown,  and  she  is  safe,  for  she  will  remove  beyond  its 
reach." 

"Thou  art  an  adventurous  youth.  "Who  wilt  thou 
find  to  undertake  the  office  ?  Who  will  be  persuaded  to 
enter  the  house  of  a  stranger,  seek  without  an  introduc 
tion  the  presence  of  this  girl,  tell  her  that  the  house  she 
inhabits  is  a  house  of  prostitution,  prevail  on  her  to 
believe  the  tale,  and  persuade  her  to  accompany  him? 
Who  will  open  his  house  to  the  fugitive  ?  Whom  will 
you  convince  that  her  illicit  intercourse  with  Welbeck, 
of  which  the  opprobrious  tokens  cannot  be  concealed, 
has  not  fitted  her  for  the  company  of  prostitutes,  and 
made  her  unworthy  of  protection  ?  Who  will  adopt  into 
their  family  a  stranger  whose  conduct  has  incurred  in 
famy,  and  whose  present  associates  have,  no  doubt, 
made  her  worthy  of  the  curse  ?" 

"  True.  These  are  difficulties  which  I  did  not  foresee. 
Must  she  then  perish  ?  Shall  not  something  be  done  to 
rescue  her  from  infamy  and  guilt  ?" 

"It  is  neither  in  your  power  nor  in  mine  to  do  any 
thing." 

The  lateness  of  the  hour  put  an  end  to  our  conversa 
tion  and  summoned  us  to  repose.  I  seized  the  first 
opportunity  of  imparting  to  my  wife  the  scheme  which 
had  occurred,  relative  to  our  guest ;  with  which,  as  I 
expected,  she  readily  concurred.  In  the  morning,  I 
mentioned  it  to  Mervyn.  I  dwelt  upon  the  benefits  that 
adhered  to  the  medical  profession,  the  power  which  it 
confers  of  lightening  the  distresses  of  our  neighbours, 
the  dignity  which  popular  opinion  annexes  to  it,  the 
avenue  which  it  opens  to  the  acquisition  of  competence, 
the  freedom  from  servile  cares  which  attends  it,  and 
the  means  of  intellectual  gratification  with  which  it 
supplies  us. 

As  I  spoke,  his  eyes  sparkled  with  joy.  "Yes,"  said 
he,  with  vehemence,  "I  willingly  embrace  your  offer. 


8  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

I  accept  this  benefit,  because  I  know  that,  if  my  pride 
should  refuse  it,  I  should  prove  myself  less  worthy  than 
you  think,  and  give  you  pain,  instead  of  that  pleasure 
which  I  am  bound  to  confer.  I  would  enter  on  the 
duties  and  studies  of  my  new  profession  immediately; 
but  somewhat  is  due  to  Mr.  Hadwin  and  his  daughters. 
I  cannot  vanquish  my  inquietudes  respecting  them,  but 
by  returning  to  Malverton  and  ascertaining  their  state 
with  my  own  eyes.  You  knoAV  in  what  circumstances  I 
parted  with  Wallace  and  Mr.  Hadwin.  I  am  not  sure 
that  either  of  them  ever  reached  home,  or  that  they  did 
not  carry  the  infection  along  with  them.  I  now  find 
myself  sufficiently  strong  to  perform  the  journey,  and 
purposed  to  have  acquainted  you,  at  this  interview,  with 
my  intentions.  An  hour's  delay  is  superfluous,  and  I 
hope  you  will  consent  to  my  setting  out  immediately. 
Rural  exercise  and  air,  for  a  week  or  fortnight,  will 
greatly  contribute  to  my  health." 

No  objection  could  be  made  to  this  scheme.  His  nar 
rative  had  excited  no  common  affection  in  our  bosoms 
for  the  Iladwins.  His  visit  could  not  only  inform  us 
of  their  true  state,  but  would  dispel  that  anxiety  which 
they  could  not  but  entertain  respecting  our  guest.  It 
was  a  topic  of  some  surprise  that  neither  Wallace  nor 
Hadwin  had  returned  to  the  city,  with  a  view  to  obtain 
some  tidings  of  their  friend.  It  was  more  easy  to  sup 
pose  them  to  have  been  detained  by  some  misfortune, 
than  by  insensibility  or  indolence.  In  a  few  minutes 
Mervyn  bade  us  adieu,  and  set  out  upon  his  journey, 
promising  to  acquaint  us  with  the  state  of  affairs  as  soon 
as  possible  after  his  arrival.  We  parted  from  him  with 
reluctance,  and  found  no  consolation  but  in  the  prospect 
of  his  speedy  return. 

During  his  absence,  conversation  naturally  turned 
upon  those  topics  which  were  suggested  by  the  narrative 
and  deportment  of  this  youth.  Different  conclusions  were 
formed  by  his  two  auditors.  They  had  both  contracted 
a  deep  interest  in  his  welfare,  and  an  ardent  curiosity  as 
to  those  particulars  which  his  unfinished  story  had  left 
in  obscurity.  The  true  character  and  actual  condition 
of  Wclbeck  were  themes  of  much  speculation.  Whether 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  $ 

he  wore  dead  or  alive,  near  or  distant  from  his  ancient 
abode,  was  a  point  on  which  neither  Mervyn,  nor  any 
of  those  with  whom  I  had  means  of  intercourse,  afforded 
any  information.  Whether  he  had  shared  the  common 
fate,  and  had  been  carried  by  the  collectors  of  the  dead 
from  the  highway  or  the  hovel  to  the  pits  opened  alike 
for  the  rich  and  the  poor,  the  known  and  the  unknown ; 
whether  he  had  escaped  to  a  foreign  shore,  or  were  des 
tined  to  reappear  upon  this  stage,  were  questions  involved 
in  uncertainty. 

The  disappearance  of  Watson  would,  at  a  different 
time,  have  excited  much  inquiry  and  suspicion ;  but,  as 
this  had  taken  place  on  the  eve  of  the  epidemic,  his 
kindred  and  friends  would  acquiesce,  without  scruple,  in 
the  belief  that  he  had  been  involved  in  the  general  cala 
mity,  and  was  to  be  numbered  among  the  earliest  victims. 
Those  of  his  profession  usually  resided  in  the  street  where 
the  infection  began,  and  where  its  ravages  had  been  most 
destructive  ;  and  this  circumstance  would  corroborate  the 
conclusions  of  his  friends. 

I  did  not  perceive  any  immediate  advantage  to  flow 
from  imparting  the  knowledge  I  had  lately  gained  to 
others.  Shortly  after  Mervyn's  departure  to  Malverton, 
I  was  visited  by  Wortley.  Inquiring  for  my  guest,  I 
told  him  that,  having  recovered  his  health,  he  had  left 
my  house.  He  repeated  his  invectives  against  the  vil- 
lany  of  Welbeck,  his  suspicions  of  Mervyn,  and  his 
wishes  for  another  interview  with  the  youth.  Why  had 
I  suffered  him  to  depart,  and  whither  had  he  gone  : 

"  He  has  gone  for  a  short  time  into  the  country.  I 
expect  him  to  return  in  less  than  a  week,  when  you  will 
meet  with  him  here  as  often  as  you  please,  for  I  expect 
him  to  take  up  his  abode  in  this  house." 

Much  astonishment  and  disapprobation  were  expressed 
by  my  friend.  I  hinted  that  the  lad  had  made  disclosures 
to  me,  which  justified  my  confidence  in  his  integrity. 
These  proofs  of  his  honesty  were  not  of  a  nature  to  be 
indiscriminately  unfolded.  Mervyn  had  authorized  me 
to  communicate  so  much  of  his  story  to  Wortley,  as 
would  serve  to  vindicate  him  from  the  charge  of  being 
Welbeck's  co-partner  in  fraud ;  but  this  end  would  only 


IO  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

be  counteracted  by  an  imperfect  tale,  and  the  full  re 
cital,  though  it  might  exculpate  Mervyn,  might  produce 
inconveniences  by  which  this  advantage  would  be  out 
weighed. 

Wortley,  as  might  be  naturally  expected,  was  by  no 
means  satisfied  with  this  statement.  He  suspected  that 
Mervyn  was  a  wily  impostor ;  that  he  had  been  trained 
in  the  arts  of  fraud,  under  an  accomplished  teacher ; 
that  the  tale  which  he  had  told  to  me  was  a  tissue  of  in 
genious  and  plausible  lies ;  that  the  mere  assertions, 
however  plausible  and  solemn,  of  one  like  him,  whose 
conduct  had  incurred  such  strong  suspicions,  were  un 
worthy  of  the  least  credit. 

"It  cannot  be  denied,"  continued  my  friend,  "that 
he  lived  with  Welbcck  at  the  time  of  his  elopement ; 
that  they  disappeared  together ;  that  they  entered  a 
boat,  at  Pine  Street  wharf,  at  midnight ;  that  this  boat 
was  discovered  by  the  owner  in  the  possession  of  a 
fisherman  at  Redbank,  who  affirmed  that  he  had  found 
it  stranded  near  his  door,  the  day  succeeding  that  on 
which  they  disappeared.  Of  all  this  I  can  supply  you 
with  incontestable  proof.  If,  after  this  proof,  you  can 
give  credit  to  his  story,  I  shall  think  you  made  of  very 
perverse  and  credulous  materials." 

"The  proof  you  mention,"  said  I,  "will  only  enhance 
his  credibility.  All  the  facts  which  you  have  stated 
have  been  admitted  by  him.  They  constitute  an  essen 
tial  portion  of  his  narrative." 

"  What  then  is  the  inference  ?  Are  not  these  evi 
dences  of  a  compact  between  them  ?  Has  he  not  ac 
knowledged  this  compact  in  confessing  that  he  knew 
Welbcck  was  my  debtor ;  that  he  was  apprized  of  his 
flight,  but  that  (what  matchless  effrontery !)  he  had  pro 
mised  secrecy,  and  would,  by  no  means,  betray  him  ? 
You  say  he  means  to  return  ;  but  of  that  I  doubt.  You 
will  never  see  his  face  more.  He  is  too  wise  to  thrust 
himself  again  into  the  noose  ;  but  I  do  not  utterly  despair 
of  lighting  upon  Welbeck.  Old  Thetford,  Jamieson,  and 
I,  have  sworn  to  hunt  him  through  the  world.  I  have 
strong  hopes  that  he  has  not  strayed  far.  Some  intelli 
gence  has  lately  been  received,  which  has  enabled  us  tc 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  f?9J-  II 

place  our  hounds  upon  his  scent.  He  may  double  and 
skulk  ;  but,  if  he  does  not  fall  into  our  toils  at  last,  he 
will  have  the  agility  and  cunning,  as  well  as  the  ma 
lignity,  of  devils." 

The  vengeful  disposition  thus  betrayed  by  Wortley 
was  not  without  excuse.  The  vigour  of  his  days  had 
been  spent  in  acquiring  a  slender  capital ;  his  diligence 
and  honesty  had  succeeded,  and  he  had  lately  thought 
his  situation  such  as  to  justify  marriage  with  an  ex 
cellent  woman,  to  whom  he  had  for  years  been  betrothed, 
but  from  whom  his  poverty  had  hitherto  compelled  him 
to  live  separate.  Scarcely  had  this  alliance  taken  place, 
and  the  full  career  of  nuptial  enjoyments  begun,  when 
his  ill  fate  exposed  him  to  the  frauds  of  Welbeck,  and 
brought  him,  in  one  evil  hour,  to  the  brink  of  in 
solvency. 

Jamieson  and  Thetford,  however,  were  rich,  and  I  had 
not  till  now  been  informed  that  they  had  reasons  for 
pursuing  Welbeck  with  peculiar  animosity.  The  latter 
was  the  uncle  of  him  whose  fate  had  been  related  by 
Mervyn,  and  was  one  of  those  who  employed  money, 
not  as  the  medium  of  traffic,  but  as  in  itself  a  com 
modity.  He  had  neither  wines  nor  cloths,  to  transmute 
into  silver.  He  thought  it  a  tedious  process  to  exchange 
to-day  one  hundred  dollars  for  a  cask  or  bale,  and  to 
morrow  exchange  the  bale  or  cask  for  one  hundred  and 
ten  dollars.  It  was  better  to  give  the  hundred  for  a 
piece  of  paper,  which,  carried  forthwith  to  the  money 
changers,  he  could  procure  a  hundred  twenty-three  and 
three-fourths.  In  short,  this  man's  coffers  were  supplied 
by  the  despair  of  honest  men  and  the  stratagems  of 
rogues.  I  did  not  immediately  suspect  how  this  man's 
prudence  and  indefatigable  attention  to  his  own  interest 
should  allow  him  to  become  the  dupe  of  Welbeck. 

"What,"  said  I,  "is  old  Thetford's  claim  upon  Wel 
beck?" 

"  It  is  a  claim,"  he  replied,  "  that,  if  it  ever  be  made 
good,  will  doom  Welbeck  to  imprisonment  and  whole 
some  labour  for  life." 

"How?     Surely  it  is  nothing  more  than  debt." 

"  Have  you  not  heard  ?     But  that  is  no  wonder.     Hap- 


12  ARTHUR  MERVYN. 

pily  you  are  a  stranger  to  mercantile  anxieties  and  revo 
lutions.  Your  fortune  does  not  rest  on  a  basis  which 
an  untoward  blast  may  sweep  away,  or  four  strokes  of  a 
pen  may  demolish.  That  hoary  dealer  in  suspicions  was 
persuaded  to  put  his  hand  to  three  notes  for  eight  hundred 
dollars  each.  The  eight  was  then  dexterously  prolonged 
to  eighteen;  they  were  duly  deposited  in  time  and  place, 
and  the  next  day  Welbeck  was  credited  for  fifty-three 
hundred  and  seventy-three,  which,  an  hour  after,  were 
told  out  to  his  messenger.  Hard  to  say  whether  the  old 
man's  grief,  shame,  or  rage,  be  uppermost.  He  dis 
dains  all  comfort  but  revenge,  and  that  he  will  procure 
at  any  price.  Jamieson,  who  deals  in  the  same  stuff 
with  Thetford,  was  outwitted  in  the  same  manner,  to 
the  same  amount,  and  on  the  same  day. 

"This  Welbeck  must  have  powers  above  the  common 
rate  of  mortals.  Grown  gray  in  studying  the  follies  and 
the  stratagems  of  men,  these  veterans  were  overreached. 
No  one  pities  them.  'Twere  well  if  his  artifices  had 
been  limited  to  such,  and  he  had  spared  the  honest  and 
the  poor.  It  is  for  his  injuries  to  men  who  have  earned 
their  scanty  subsistence  without  forfeiting  their  probity, 
that  I  hate  him,  and  shall  exult  to  see  him  suffer  all  the 
rigours  of  the  law."  Here  Wortley's  engagements  com 
pelled  him  to  take  his  leave. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

WHILE  musing  upon  these  facts,  I  could  not  but  reflect 
with  astonishment  on  the  narrow  escapes  which  Mervyn'a 
virtue  had  experienced.  I  was  by  no  means  certain  that 
his  fame  or  his  life  was  exempt  from  all  danger,  or  that 
the  suspicions  which  had  already  been  formed  respecting 
him  could  possibly  be  wiped  away.  Nothing  but  his 
own  narrative,  repeated  with  that  simple  but  nervous 
eloquence  which  we  had  witnessed,  could  rescue  him 
from  the  most  heinous  charges.  Was  there  any  tribunal 
that  would  not  acquit  him  on  merely  hearing  his  defence? 

Surely  the  youth  was  honest.  His  tale  could  not  be 
the  fruit  of  invention ;  and  yet,  what  are  the  bounds  of 
fraud  ?  Nature  has  set  no  limits  to  the  combinations  of 
fancy.  A  smooth  exterior,  a  show  of  virtue,  and  a  spe 
cious  tale,  are,  a  thousand  times,  exhibited  in  human  in 
tercourse  by  craft  and  subtlety.  Motives  are  endlessly 
varied,  while  actions  continue  the  same;  and  an  acute 
penetration  may  not  find  it  hard  to  select  and  arrange 
motives,  suited  to  exempt  from  censure  any  action  that 
a  human  being  can  commit. 

Had  I  heard  Mervyn's  story  from  another,  or  read  it 
in  a  book,  I  might,  perhaps,  have  found  it  possible  to 
suspect  the  truth ;  but,  as  long  as  the  impression  made 
by  his  tones,  gestures,  and  looks,  remained  in  my  me 
mory,  this  suspicion  was  impossible.  Wickedness  may 
sometimes  be  ambiguous,  its  mask  may,  puzzle  the  ob 
server;  our  judgment  may  be  made  to  falter  and  fluc 
tuate,  but  the  face  of  Mervyn  is  the  index  of  an  honest 
mind.  Calm  or  vehement,  doubting  or  confident,  it  is 
full  of  benevolence  and  candour.  He  that  listens  to  hia 
words  may  question  their  truth,  but  he  that  looks  upon 

13 


14  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OK, 

his  countenance  when  speaking  cannot  withhold  his 
faith. 

It  was  possible,  however,  to  find  evidence  supporting 
or  confuting  his  story.  I  chanced  to  be  acquainted  with 
a  family,  by  name  Althorpe,  who  were  natives  of  that 
part  of  the  country  where  his  father  resided.  I  paid 
them  a  visit,  and,  after  a  few  preliminaries,  mentioned, 
as  if  by  accident,  the  name  of  Mervyn.  They  imme 
diately  recognised  this  name  as  belonging  to  one  of  their 
ancient  neighbours.  The  death  of  the  wife  and  sons, 
and  the  seduction  of  the  only  daughter  by  Colvill,  with 
many  pathetic  incidents  connected  with  the  fate  of  this 
daughter,  were  mentioned. 

This  intelligence  induced  me  to  inquire  of  Mrs. 
Althorpe,  a  sensible  and  candid  woman,  if  she  were 
acquainted  with  the  recent  or  present  situation  of  thia 
family. 

"I  cannot  say  much,"  she  answered,  "of  my  own 
knowledge.  Since  my  marriage,  I  am  used  to  spend  a 
few  weeks  of  summer  at  my  father's,  but  am  less  inquisi 
tive  than  I  once  was  into  the  concerns  of  my  old  neigh 
bours.  I  recollect,  however,  when  there,  last  year, 
during  the  fever,  to  have  heard  that  Sawny  Mervyn  had 
taken  a  second  wife;  that  his  only  son,  a  youth  of 
eighteen,  had  thought  proper  to  be  highly  offended 
with  his  father's  conduct,  and  treated  the  new  mistress 
of  the  house  with  insult  and  contempt.  I  should  not 
much  wonder  at  this,  seeing  children  are  so  apt  to  deem 
themselves  unjustly  treated  by  a  second  marriage  of  their 
parent;  but  it  was  hinted  that  the  boy's  jealousy  and 
discontent  were  excited  by  no  common  cause.  The  new 
mother  was  not  much  older  than  himself,  had  been  a 
servant  of  the  family,  and  a  criminal  intimacy  had  sub 
sisted  between  her,  while  in  that  condition,  and  the  son. 
Her  marriage  with  his  father  was  justly  accounted  by 
their  neighbours  a  most  profligate  and  odious  transac 
tion.  The  son,  perhaps,  had,  in  such  a  case,  a  right 
to  scold,  but  he  ought  not  to  have  carried  his  anger 
to  such  extremes  as  have  been  imputed  to  him.  He  ia 
said  to  have  grinned  upon  her  with  contempt,  and  even 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR   1793-  1 5 

to  have  called  her  strumpet  in  the  presence  of  his  father 
and  of  strangers. 

"It  was  impossible  for  such  a  family  to  keep  together. 
Arthur  took  leave  one  night  to  possess  himself  of  all  hia 
father's  cash,  mount  the  best  horse  in  his  meadow,  and 
elope.  For  a  time,  no  one  knew  whither  he  had  gone. 
At  last,  one  was  said  to  have  met  with  him  in  the  streets 
of  this  city,  metamorphosed  from  a  rustic  lad  into  a  fine 
gentleman.  Nothing  could  be  quicker  than  this  change, 
for  he  left  the  country  on  a  Saturday  morning,  and  was 
seen  in  a  French  frock  and  silk  stockings,  going  into 
Christ's  Church  the  next  day.  I  suppose  he  kept  it  up 
with  a  high  hand,  as  long  as  his  money  lasted. 

"  My  father  paid  us  a  visit  last  week,  and,  among 
other  country-news,  told  us  that  Sawny  Mervyn  had  sold 
his  place.  His  wife  had  persuaded  him  to  try  his  for 
tune  in  the  Western  country.  The  price  of  his  hundred 
acres  here  would  purchase  a  thousand  there,  and  the 
man,  being  very  gross  and  ignorant,  and,  withal,  quite  a 
simpleton,  found  no  difficulty  in  perceiving  that  a  thou 
sand  are  ten  times  more  than  a  hundred.  He  was  not 
aware  that  a  rood  of  ground  upon  Schuylkill  is  tenfold 
better  than  an  acre  on  the  Tennessee. 

"  The  woman  turned  out  to  be  an  artful  profligate. 
Having  sold  his  ground  and  gotten  his  money,  he  placed 
it  in  her  keeping,  and  she,  to  enjoy  it  with  the  more 
security,  ran  away  to  the  city ;  leaving  him  to  prosecute 
his  journey  to  Kentucky  moneyless  and  alone.  Some 
time  after,  Mr.  Althorpe  and  I  were  at  the  play,  when 
he  pointed  out  to  me  a  group  of  females  in  an  upper 
box,  one  of  whom  was  no  other  than  Betty  Lawrence. 
It  was  not  easy  to  recognise,  in  her  present  gaudy  trim, 
all  flaunting  with  ribbons  and  shining  with  trinkets,  the 
same  Betty  who  used  to  deal  out  pecks  of  potatoes  and 
superintend  her  basket  of  cantaloupes  in  the  Jersey 
market,  in  pasteboard  bonnet  and  linsey  petticoat.  Her 
companions  were  of  the  infamous  class.  If  Arthur  were 
still  in  the  city,  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  mother  and 
son  might  renew  the  ancient  terms  of  their  acquaintance. 

"  The  old  man,  thus  robbed  and  betrayed,  sought  con 
solation  in  the  bottle,  of  which  he  had  been  at  all  times 


1 6  ARTHUR   MERVYN;    OR, 

over-fond.  He  wandered  from  one  tavern  to  another 
till  his  credit  was  exhausted,  and  then  was  sent  to  jail, 
where,  I  believe,  he  is  likely  to  continue  till  his  death. 
Such,  my  friend,  is  the  history  of  the  Mervyns.  ' 

"What  proof,"  said  I,  "have  you  of  the  immoral  con 
duct  of  the  son?  Of  his  mistreatment  of  his  mother, 
and  his  elopement  with  his  father's  horse  and  money?1' 

"  I  have  no  proof  hut  the  unanimous  report  of  Mervyn's 
neighbours.  .Respectable  and  honest  men  have  affirmed, 
in  my  hearing,  that  they  had  been  present  when  the  boy 
treated  his  mother  in  the  way  that  I  have  described.  I 
was,  besides,  once  in  company  with  the  old  man,  and 
heard  him  bitterly  inveigh  against  his  son,  and  charge 
him  with  the  fact  of  stealing  his  horse  and  money.  I 
well  remember  that  tears  rolled  from  his  eyes  while  talk 
ing  on  the  subject.  As  to  his  being  seen  in  the  city  the 
next  day  after  his  elopement,  dressed  in  a  most  costly  and 
fashionable  manner,  I  can  doubt  that  as  little  as  the  rest, 
for  he  that  saw  him  was  my  father,  and  you,  who  know 
my  father,  know  what  credit  is  due  to  his  eyes  and  his 
word.  He  had  seen  Arthur  often  enough  not  to  be  mis 
taken,  and  described  his  appearance  with  great  exact 
ness.  The  boy  is  extremely  handsome,  give  him  his  due; 
has  dark  hazel  eyes,  auburn  hair,  and  very  elegant  pro 
portions.  His  air  and  gait  have  nothing  of  the  clown 
in  them.  Take  away  his  jacket  and  trousers,  and  you 
have  as  spruce  a  fellow  as  ever  came  from  dancing-school 
or  college.  He  is  the  exact  picture  of  his  mother,  and 
the  most  perfect  contrast  to  the  sturdy  legs,  squat  figure, 
and  broad,  unthinking,  sheepish  face  of  the  father  that 
can  be  imagined.  You  must  confess  that  his  appearance 
here  is  a  pretty  strong  proof  of  the  father's  assertions. 
The  money  given  for  these  clothes  could  not  possibly 
have  been  honestly  acquired.  It  is  to  be  presumed  that 
they  were  bought  or  stolen,  for  how  else  should  they 
have  been  gotten?" 

"What  was  this  lad's  personal  deportment  during  the 
life  of  his  mother,  and  before  his  father's  second  mar 
riage?" 

"  Very  little  to  the  credit  of  his  heart  or  his  intellects. 
Being  the  youngest  son,  the  only  one  who  at  length 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  /79J-  17 

survived,  and  having  a  powerful  resemblance  to  herself, 
he  became  the  mother's  favourite.  His  constitution  was 
feeble,  and  he  loved  to  stroll  in  the  woods  more  than  to 
plough  or  sow.  This  idleness  was  much  against  his 
lather's  inclination  and  judgment;  and,  indeed,  it  was 
the  foundation  of  all  his  vices.  When  he  could  be  pre 
vailed  upon  to  do  any  thing  it  was  in  a  bungling  manner, 
and  so  as  to  prove  that  his  thoughts  were  fixed  on  any 
thing  except  his  business.  When  his  assistance  was 
wanted  he  was  never  to  be  found  at  hand.  They  were 
compelled  to  search  for  him  among  the  rocks  and  bushes, 
and  he  was  generally  discovered  sauntering  along  the 
bank  of  a  river,  or  lolling  in  the  shade  of  a  tree.  This 
disposition  to  inactivity  and  laziness,  in  so  young  a  man, 
was  very  strange.  Persons  of  his  age  are  rarely  fond 
of  work,  but  then  they  are  addicted  to  company,  and 
sports,  and  exercises.  They  ride,  or  shoot,  or  frolic; 
but  this  being  moped  away  his  time  in  solitude,  never 
associated  with  other  young  people,  never  mounted  a 
horse  but  when  he  could  not  help  it,  and  never  fired  a 
gun  or  angled  for  a  fish  in  his  life.  Some  people  sup 
posed  him  to  be  half  an  idiot,  or,  at  least,  not  to  be 
right  in  his  mind;  and,  indeed,  his  conduct  was  so  very 
perverse  and  singular,  that  I  do  not  wonder  at  those  who 
accounted  for  it  in  this  way." 

"But  surely,"  said  I,  "he  had  some  object  of  pursuit. 
Perhaps  he  was  addicted  to  books." 

"  Far  from  it.  On  the  contrary,  his  aversion  to  school 
was  as  great  as  his  hatred  of  the  plough.  He  never 
could  get  his  lessons  or  bear  the  least  constraint.  He 
was  so  much  indulged  by  his  mother  at  home,  that  tasks 
and  discipline  of  any  kind  were  intolerable.  He  was 
a  perpetual  truant;  till,  the  master  one  day  attempting 
to  strike  him,  he  ran  out  of  the  room  and  never  entered 
it  more.  The  mother  excused  and  countenanced  his 
frowardness,  and  the  foolish  father  was  obliged  to  give 
way.  I  do  not  believe  he  had  two  months'  schooling  in 
his  life." 

"Perhaps,"  said  I,  "he  preferred  studying  by  himself, 
and  at  liberty.  I  have  known  boys  endowed  with  great 
2 


1 8  ARTHUR   MERVYN;    OR, 

curiosity  and  aptitude  to  learning,  who  never  could  endure 
set  tasks,  and  spurned  at  the  pedagogue  and  his  rod." 

"I  have  known  such  likewise,  but  this  was  not  one  of 
them.  I  know  not  whence  he  could  derive  his  love  of 
knowledge  or  the  means  of  acquiring  it.  The  family 
were  totally  illiterate.  The  father  was  a  Scotch  peasant, 
whose  ignorance  was  so  great  that  he  could  not  sign  his 
name.  His  wife,  I  believe,  could  read,  and  might  some 
times  decipher  the  figures  in  an  almanac;  but  that  was 
all.  I  am  apt  to  think  that  the  son's  ability  was  not 
much  greater.  You  might  as  well  look  for  silver  platters 
or  marble  tables  in  his  house,  as  for  a  book  or  a  pen. 

"  I  remember  calling  at  their  house  one  evening  in  the 
winter  before  last.  It  was  intensely  cold ;  and  my  father, 
who  rode  with  me,  having  business  with  Sawny  Mervyn, 
we  stopped  a  minute  at  his  gate ;  and,  while  the  two  old 
men  were  engaged  in  conversation,  1  begged  leave  to 
warm  myself  by  the  kitchen  fire.  Here,  in  the  chimney- 
corner,  seated  on  a  block,  I  found  Arthur  busily  engaged 
in  knitting  stockings!  I  thought  this  a  whimsical 
employment  for  a  young  active  man.  I  told  him  so,  for 
1  wanted  to  put  him  to  the  blush ;  but  he  smiled  in  my 
face,  and  answered,  without  the  least  discomposure, 
'Just  as  whimsical  a  business  for  a  young  active  woman. 
Pray,  did  you  never  knit  a  stocking?' 

" '  Yes ;  but  that  was  from  necessity.  Were  I  of  a 
different  sex,  or  did  I  possess  the  strength  of  a  man,  I 
should  rather  work  in  my  field  or  study  my  book.' 

"'Rejoice  that  you  are  a  woman,  then,  and  are  at 
liberty  to  pursue  that  which  costs  least  labour  and  de 
mands  most  skill.  You  see,  though  a  man,  I  use  your 
privilege,  and  prefer  knitting  yarn  to  threshing  my  brain 
with  a  book  or  the  barn-floor  with  a  flail.' 

"'I  wonder,'  said  I,  contemptuously,  'you  do  not  put 
on  the  petticoat  as  well  as  handle  the  needle.' 

"'Do  not  wonder,'  he  replied;  'it  is  because  I  hate  a 
petticoat  encumbrance  as  much  as  I  love  warm  feet. 
Look  there,'  (offering  the  stocking  to  my  inspection:) 
'is  it  not  well  done?' 

"I  did  not  touch  it,  but  sneeringly  said,  'Excellent! 
I  wonder  you  do  not  apprentice  yourself  to  a  tailor.' 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  19 

"  Ho  looked  at  me  with  an  air  of  ridiculous  simplicity, 
and  said,  '  How  prone  the  woman  is  to  wonder  I  You 
call  the  work  excellent,  and  yet  wonder  that  I  do  not 
make  myself  a  slave  to  improve  my  skill!  Did  you 
learn  needlework  from  seven  years'  squatting  on  a  tailor's 
board  ?  Had  you  come  to  me,  I  would  have  taught  you 
in  a  day.' 

"'I  was  taught  at  school.' 

"'And  paid  your  instructor?' 

*"  To-he-sure.' 

"  *  'Twas  liberty  and  money  thrown  away.  Send  your 
sister,  if  you  have  one,  to  me,  and  I  will  teach  her  with 
out  either  rod  or  wages.  Will  you?' 

"'You  have  an  old  and  a  violent  antipathy,  I  believe, 
to  any  thing  like  a  school." 

" '  True.     It  was  early  and  violent.     Had  not  you  ?' 

'"No.  I  went  to  school  with  pleasure;  for  I  thought 
to  read  and  write  were  accomplishments  of  some  value.' 

"'Indeed?  Then  I  misunderstood  you  just  now.  I 
thought  you  said  that,  had  you  the  strength  of  a  man, 
you  should  prefer  the  plough  and  the  book  to  the  needle. 
Whence,  supposing  you  a  female,  I  inferred  that  you 
had  a  woman's  love  for  the  needle  and  a  fool's  hatred  of 
books.' 

"My  father  calling  me  from  without,  I  now  made  a 
motion  to  go.  'Stay,'  continued  he,  with  great  earnest 
ness,  throwing  aside  his  knitting-apparatus,  and  begin 
ning  in  great  haste  to  pull  off  his  stockings.  'Draw 
these  stockings  over  your  shoes.  They  will  save  your 
feet  from  the  snow  while  walking  to  your  horse.' 

"  Half  angry,  and  half  laughing,  I  declined  the  offer. 
He  had  drawn  them  off,  however,  and,  holding  them  in 
his  hand,  'Be  persuaded,'  said  he;  'only  lift  your  feet, 
and  I  will  slip  them  on  in  a  trice.' 

"Finding  me  positive  in  my  refusal,  he  dropped  the 
stockings;  and,  without  more  ado,  caught  me  up  in  his 
arms,  rushed  out  of  the  room,  and,  running  barefoot 
through  the  snow,  set  me  fairly  on  my  horse.  All  was 
done  in  a  moment,  and  before  I  had  time  to  reflect  on 
his  intentions.  He  then  seized  my  hand,  and,  kissing 
it  with  great  fervour,  exclaimed,  '  A  thousand  thanks  to 


2O  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

you  for  not  accepting  my  stockings.  You  have  thereby 
saved  yourself  and  me  the  time  and  toil  of  drawing  on 
and  drawing  off.  Since  you  have  taught  me  to  wonder, 
let  me  practise  the  lesson  in  wondering  at  your  folly,  in 
wearing  worsted  shoes  and  silk  stockings  at  a  season 
like  this.  Take  my  counsel,  and  turn  your  silk  to 
worsted  and  your  worsted  to  leather.  Then  may  you 
hope  for  warm  feet  and  dry.  What!  Leave  the  gate 
without  a  blessing  on  your  counsellor?' 

"I  spurred  my  horse  into  a  gallop,  glad  to  escape  from 
so  strange  a  being.  I  could  give  you  many  instances  of 
behaviour  equally  singular,  and  which  betrayed  a  mix 
ture  of  shrewdness  and  folly,  of  kindness  and  impudence, 
which  justified,  perhaps,  the  common  notion  that  his 
intellects  were  unsound.  Nothing  was  more  remarkable 
than  his  impenetrability  to  ridicule  and  censure.  You 
might  revile  him  for  hours,  and  he  would  listen  to  you 
with  invincible  composure.  To  awaken  anger  or  shame 
in  him  was  impossible.  He  would  answer,  but  in  such  a 
way  as  to  show  him  totally  unaware  of  your  true  mean 
ing.  He  would  afterwards  talk  to  you  with  all  the 
smiling  affability  and  freedom  of  an  old  friend.  Every 
one  despised  him  for  his  idleness  and  folly,  no  less  con 
spicuous  in  his  words  than  his  actions ;  but  no  one  feared 
him,  and  few  were  angry  with  him,  till  after  the  detec 
tion  of  his  commerce  with  Betty ,  and  his  inhuman  treat 
ment  of  his  father." 

"  Have  you  good  reasons  for  supposing  him  to  have 
been  illicitly  connected  with  that  girl?" 

"  Yes.  Such  as  cannot  be  discredited.  It  would  not 
be  proper  for  me  to  state  these  proofs.  Nay,  he  never 
denied  it.  When  reminded,  on  one  occasion,  of  the  in 
ference  which  every  impartial  person  would  draw  from 
appearances,  he  acknowledged,  with  his  usual  placid 
effrontery,  that  the  inference  was  unavoidable.  He  even 
mentioned  other  concurring  and  contemporary  incidents, 
which  had  eluded  the  observation  of  his  censurer,  and 
which  added  still  more  force  to  the  conclusion.  He  was 
studious  to  palliate  the  vices  of  this  woman,  as  long  as 
he  was  her  only  paramour;  but,  after  her  marriage  with 
his  father,  the  tone  was  changed.  He  confessed  that  she 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  /7?J.  21 

was  tidy,  notable,  industrious ;  but,  then,  she  was  a  pros 
titute.  When  charged  with  being  instrumental  in  making 
her  such,  and  when  his  companions  dwelt  upon  the  de 
pravity  of  reviling  her  for  vices  which  she  owed  to  him, 
4  True,' he  would  say,  'there  is  depravity,  and  folly  in 
the  conduct  you  describe.  Make  me  out,  if  you  please, 
to  be  a  villain.  What  then  ?  I  was  talking,  not  of  my 
self,  but  of  Betty.  Still  this  woman  is  a  prostitute.  If 
it  were  I  that  made  her  such,  with  more  confidence  may 
I  make  the  charge.  But  think  not  that  I  blame  Betty. 
Place  me  in  her  situation,  and  I  should  have  acted  just 
so.  I  should  have  formed  just  such  notions  of  my  in 
terest,  and  pursued  it  by  the  same  means.  Still,  say  I, 
I  would  fain  have  a  different  woman  for  my  father's  wife, 
and  the  mistress  of  his  family.'" 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THIS  conversation  was  interrupted  by  a  messenger 
from  my  wife,  who  desired  my  return  immediately.  I 
had  some  hopes  of  meeting  with  Mervyn,  some  days 
having  now  elapsed  since  his  parting  from  us,  and  not 
being  conscious  of  any  extraordinary  motives  for  delay. 
It  was  Wortley,  however,  and  not  Mervyn,  to  whom  I 
was  called. 

My  friend  came  to  share  with  me  his  suspicions  and 
inquietudes  respecting  Welbeck  and  Mervyn.  An  acci 
dent  had  newly  happened  which  had  awakened  these 
suspicions  afresh.  He  desired  a  patient  audience  while 
he  explained  them  to  me.  These  were  his  words : — 

"  To-day  a  person  presented  me  a  letter  from  a  mer 
cantile  friend  at  Baltimore.  I  easily  discerned  the  bearer 
to  be  a  sea-captain.  He  was  a  man  of  sensible  and 
pleasing  aspect,  and  was  recommended  to  my  friendship 
and  counsel  in  the  letter  which  he  brought.  The  letter 
stated,  that  a  man,  by  name  Amos  Watson,  by  profession 
a  mariner,  and  a  resident  at  Baltimore,  had  disappeared 
in  the  summer  of  last  year,  in  a  mysterious  and  incom 
prehensible  manner.  He  was  known  to  have  arrived  in 
this  city  from  Jamaica,  and  to  have  intended  an  imme 
diate  journey  to  his  family,  who  lived  at  Baltimore ;  but 
he  never  arrived  there,  and  no  trace  of  his  existence 
has  since  been  discovered.  The  bearer  had  come  to  in 
vestigate,  if  possible,  the  secret  of  his  fate,  and  I  was 
earnestly  entreated  to  afford  him  all  the  assistance  and 
advice  in  my  power,  in  the  prosecution  of  his  search.  I 
expressed  my  willingness  to  serve  the  stranger,  whose 
name  was  Williams ;  and,  after  offering  him  entertain 
ment  at  my  house,  which  was  thankfully  accepted,  he 
22 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  171)3.  2$ 

proceeded  to  unfold  to  me  the  particulars  of  this  affair. 
His  story  was  this. 

"'  On  the  20th  of  last  June,  I  arrived,'  said  he,  'from 
the  West  Indies,  in  company  with  Captain  Watson.  I 
commanded  the  ship  in  which  he  came  as  a  passenger, 
his  own  ship  being  taken  and  confiscated  by  the  English. 
We  had  long  lived  in  habits  of  strict  friendship,  and  I 
loved  him  for  his  own  sake,  as  well  as  because  he  had 
married  my  sister.  We  landed  in  the  morning,  and 
went  to  dine  with  Mr.  Keysler,  since  dead,  but  who  then 
lived  in  Water  Street.  He  was  extremely  anxious  to 
visit  his  family,  and,  having  a  few  commissions  to  per 
form  in  the  city,  which  would  not  demand  more  than  a 
couple  of  hours,  he  determined  to  set  out  next  morning 
in  the  stage.  Meanwhile,  I  had  engagements  which  re 
quired  me  to  repair  with  the  utmost  expedition  to  New 
York.  I  was  scarcely  less  anxious  than  my  brother  to 
reach  Baltimore,  where  my  friends  also  reside  ;  but  there 
was  an  absolute  necessity  of  going  eastward.  I  ex 
pected,  however,  to  return  hither  in  three  days,  and  then 
to  follow  Watson  home.  Shortly  after  dinner  we  parted ; 
he  to  execute  his  commissions,  and  I  to  embark  in  the 
mail-stage. 

" '  In  the  time  prefixed  I  returned.  I  arrived  early  in 
the  morning,  and  prepared  to  depart  again  at  noon. 
Meanwhile,  I  called  at  Keysler's.  This  is  an  old  ac 
quaintance  of  Watson's  and  mine  ;  and,  in  the  course  of 
talk,  he  expressed  some  surprise  that  Watson  had  so 
precipitately  deserted  his  house.  I  stated  the  necessity 
there  was  for  Watson's  immediate  departure  southward, 
and  added,  that  no  doubt  my  brother  had  explained  this 
necessity. 

" '  Why,  (said  Keysler,)  it  is  true,  Captain  Watson  men 
tioned  his  intention  of  leaving  town  early  next  day ;  but 
then  he  gave  me  reason  to  expect  that  he  would  sup  and 
lodge  with  me  that  night,  whereas  he  has  not  made  his 
appearance  since.  Besides,  his  trunk  was  brought  to  my 
house.  This,  no  doubt,  he  intended  to  carry  home  with 
him,  but  here  it  remains  still.  It  is  not  likely  that  in 
the  hurry  of  departure  his  baggage  was  forgotten. 
Hence,  I  inferred  that  he  was  still  in  town,  and  have 


24  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

been  puzzling  myself  these  three  days  with  conjectures 
as  to  what  is  become  of  him.  What  surprises  me  more 
is,  that,  on  inquiring  among  the  few  friends  which  he  has 
in  this  city,  I  find  them  as  ignorant  of  his  motions  aa 
myself.  I  have  not,  indeed,  been  wholly  without  ap 
prehensions  that  some  accident  or  other  has  befallen 
him.' 

" '  I  was  not  a  little  alarmed  by  this  intimation.  I 
went  myself,  agreeably  to  Keysler's  directions,  to  Wat 
son's  friends,  and  made  anxious  inquiries,  but  none  of 
them  had  seen  my  brother  since  his  arrival.  I  en 
deavoured  to  recollect  the  commissions  which  he  de 
signed  to  execute,  and,  if  possible,  to  trace  him  to  the 
spot  where  he  last  appeared.  He  had  several  packets  to 
deliver,  one  of  which  was  addressed  to  Walter  Thetford. 
Him,  after  some  inquiry,  I  found  out,  but  unluckily  he 
chanced  to  be  in  the  country.  I  found,  by  questioning 
a  clerk,  who  transacted  his  business  in  his  absence,  that 
a  person,  who  answered  the  minute  description  which  I 
gave  of  Watson,  had  been  there  on  the  day  on  which  I 
parted  with  him,  and  had  left  papers  relative  to  the  cap 
ture  of  one  of  Thetford's  vessels  by  the  English.  This 
was  the  sura  of  the  information  he  was  able  to  afford  me. 

"  *  I  then  applied  to  three  merchants  for  whom  rny 
brother  had  letters.  They  all  acknowledged  the  receipt 
of  these  letters,  but  they  were  delivered  through  the  me 
dium  of  the  post-office. 

"  *  I  was  extremely  anxious  to  reach  home.  Urgent 
engagements  compelled  me  to  go  on  without  delay.  I 
had  already  exhausted  all  the  means  of  inquiry  within 
my  reach,  and  was  obliged  to  acquiesce  in  the  belief  that 
Watson  had  proceeded  homeward  at  the  time  appointed, 
and  left,  by  forgetfulness  or  accident,  his  trunk  behind 
him.  On  examining  the  books  kept  at  the  stage-offices, 
his  name  nowhere  appeared,  and  no  conveyance  by  water 
had  occurred  during  the  last  week.  Still,  the  only  con 
jecture  I  could  form  was  that  he  had  gone  homeward. 

"'Arriving  at  Baltimore,  I  found  that  Watson  had 
not  yet  made  his  appearance.  His  wife  produced  a 
letter,  which,  by  the  postmark,  appeared  to  have  been 
put  into  the  office  at  Philadelphia,  on  the  morning  after 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR   1793.  2$ 

our  arrival,  and  on  which  he  had  designed  to  commence 
his  journey.  This  letter  had  been  written  by  my  bro 
ther,  in  my  presence,  but  I  had  dissuaded  him  from  send 
ing  it,  since  the  same  coach  that  should  bear  the  letter 
was  likewise  to  carry  himself.  I  had  seen  him  put  it 
unwafered  in  his  pocket-book,  but  this  letter,  unaltered 
in  any  part,  and  containing  money  which  he  had  at  first 
intended  to  enclose  in  it,  was  now  conveyed  to  his  wife's 
hand.  In  this  letter  he  mentioned  his  design  of  setting 
out  for  Baltimore  on  the  twenty-first,  yet  on  that  day 
the  letter  itself  had  been  put  into  the  office. 

" '  We  hoped  that  a  short  time  would  clear  up  this 
mystery,  and  bring  the  fugitive  home ;  but,  from  that 
day  till  the  present,  no  atom  of  intelligence  has  been 
received  concerning^  him.  The  yellow  fever,  which 
quickly  followed,  in  this  city,  and  my  own  engagements, 
have  hindered  me,  till  now,  from  coming  hither  and  re 
suming  the  search. 

"  'My  brother  was  one  of  the  most  excellent  of  men. 
His  wife  loved  him  to  distraction,  and,  together  with  his 
children,  depended  for  subsistence  upon  his  efforts.  You 
will  not,  therefore,  be  surprised  that  his  disappearance 
excited,  in  us,  the  deepest  consternation  and  distress ; 
but  I  have  other  and  peculiar  reasons  for  wishing  to 
know  his  fate.  I  gave  him  several  bills  of  exchange  on 
merchants  of  Baltimore,  which  I  had  received  in  pay 
ment  of  my  cargo,  in  order  that  they  might,  as  soon  as 
possible,  be  presented  and  accepted.  These  have  dis 
appeared  with  the  bearer.  There  is  likewise  another  cir 
cumstance  that  makes  his  existence  of  no  small  value. 

" '  There  is  an  English  family,  who  formerly  resided 
in  Jamaica,  and  possessed  an  estate  of  great  value,  but 
who,  for  some  years,  have  lived  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Baltimore.  The  head  of  this  family  died  a  year  ago, 
and  left  a  widow  and  three  daughters.  The  lady  thought 
it  eligible  to  sell  her  husband's  property  in  Jamaica,  the 
island  becoming  hourly  more  exposed  to  the  chances  of 
war  and  revolution,  and  transfer  it  to  the  United  States, 
where  she  purposes  henceforth  to  reside.  Watson  had 
been  her  husband's  friend,  and,  his  probity  and  disin 
terestedness  being  well  known,  she  intrusted  him  with 


26  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

legal  powers  to  sell  this  estate.  This  commission  was 
punctually  performed,  and  the  purchase-money  was  re 
ceived.  In  order  to  confer  on  it  the  utmost  possible 
security,  he  rolled  up  four  bills  of  exchange,  drawn  upon 
opulent,  merchants  of  London,  in  a  thin  sheet  of  lead, 
and,  depositing  this  roll  in  a  leathern  girdle,  fastened  it 
round  his  waist,  and  under  his  clothes ;  a  second  set  he 
gave  to  me,  and  a  third  he  despatched  to  Mr.  Keyslcr, 
by  a  vessel  which  sailed  a  few  days  before  him.  On  our 
arrival  in  this  city,  we  found  that  Keysler  had  received 
those  transmitted  to  him,  and  which  he  had  been  charged 
to  keep  till  our  arrival.  They  were  now  produced,  and, 
together  with  those  which  I  had  carried,  were  delivered 
to  Watson.  By  him  they  were  joined  to  those  in  the 
girdle,  which  he  still  wore,  conceiving  this  method  of 
conveyance  to  be  safer  than  any  other,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  imagining  it  needless,  in  so  short  a  journey  as  re 
mained  to  be  performed,  to  resort  to  other  expedients. 

"  *  The  sum  which  he  thus  bore  about  him  was  no  less 
than  ten  thousand  pounds  sterling.  It  constituted  the 
whole  patrimony  of  a  worthy  and  excellent  family,  and 
the  loss  of  it  reduces  them  to  beggary.  It  is  gone  with 
Watson,  and  whither  Watson  has  gone  it  is  impossible 
even  to  guess. 

"'You  may  now  easily  conceive,  sir,  the  dreadful 
disasters  which  may  be  connected  with  this  man's  fate, 
and  with  what  immeasurable  anxiety  his  family  and 
friends  have  regarded  his  disappearance.  That  he  is 
alive  can  scarcely  be  believed ;  for  in  what  situation 
could  he  be  placed  in  which  he  would  not  be  able  and 
willing  to  communicate  some  tidings  of  his  fate  to  his 
family  ? 

"  'Our  grief  has  been  unspeakably  aggravated  by  the 
suspicions  which  Mrs.  Maurice  and  her  friends  have 
allowed  themselves  to  admit.  They  do  not  scruple  to 
insinuate  that  Watson,  tempted  by  so  great  a  prize,  has 
secretly  embarked  for  England,  in  order  to  obtain  pay 
ment  for  these  bills  and  retain  the  money  for  his  own  use. 

"  'No  man  was  more  impatient  of  poverty  than  Wat 
son,  but  no  man's  honesty  was  more  inflexible.  He 
murmured  at  the  destiny  that  compelled  him  to  sacrifice 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  2.J 

his  ease,  and  risk  his  life  upon  the  ocean  in  order  to 
procure  the  means  of  subsistence ;  and  all  the  property 
which  he  had  spent  the  best  part  of  his  life  in  collecting 
had  just  been  ravished  away  from  him  by  the  English ; 
but,  if  he  had  yielded  to  this  temptation  at  any  time,  it 
would  have  been  on  receiving  these  bills  at  Jamaica. 
Instead  of  coming  hither,  it  would  have  been  infinitely 
more  easy  and  convenient  to  have  embarked  directly  for 
London ;  but  none  who  thoroughly  knew  him  can,  for  a 
moment,  harbour  a  suspicion  of  his  truth. 

"'If  he  be  dead,  and  if  the  bills  are  not  to  be  re 
covered,  yet  to  ascertain  this  will,  at  least,  serve  to  vin 
dicate  his  character.  As  long  as  his  fate  is  unknown, 
his  fame  will  be  loaded  with  the  most  flagrant  imputa 
tions,  and,  if  these  bills  be  ever  paid  in  London,  these 
imputations  will  appear  to  be  justified.  If  he  has  been 
robbed,  the  robber  will  make  haste  to  secure  the  pay 
ment,  and  the  Maurices  may  not  unreasonably  conclude 
that  the  robber  was  Watson  himself.'  Many  other  par 
ticulars  were  added  by  the  stranger,  to  show  the  extent 
of  the  evils  flowing  from  the  death  of  his  brother,  and 
the  loss  of  the  papers  which  he  carried  with  him. 

"I  was  greatly  at  a  loss,"  continued  Wortley,  "what 
directions  or  advice  to  afford  this  man.  Keysler,  as  you 
know,  died  early  of  the  pestilence  ;  but  Keysler  was  the 
only  resident  in  this  city  with  whom  Williams  had  any 
acquaintance.  On  mentioning  the  propriety  of  prevent 
ing  the  sale  of  these  bills  in  America,  by  some  public 
notice,  he  told  me  that  this  caution  had  been  early 
taken ;  and  I  now  remembered  seeing  the  advertise 
ment,  in  which  the  bills  had  been  represented  as  having 
been  lost  or  stolen  in  this  city,  and  a  reward  of  a  thou 
sand  dollars  was  offered  to  any  one  who  should  restore 
them.  This  caution  had  been  published  in  September, 
in  all  the  trading-towns  from  Portsmouth  to  Savannah, 
but  had  produced  no  satisfaction. 

"  I  accompanied  Williams  to  the  mayor's  office,  in 
hopes  of  finding  in  the  records  of  his  proceedings,  during 
the  last  six  months,  some  traces  of  Watson  ;  but  neither 
these  records  nor  the  memory  of  the  magistrate  afforded 
us  any  satisfaction.  Watson's  friends  had  drawn  up, 


28  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

likewise,  a  description  of  the  person  and  dress  of  the 
fugitive,  an  account  of  the  incidents  attending  his  disap 
pearance,  and  of  the  papers  which  he  had  in  his  posses 
sion,  with  the  manner  in  which  these  papers  had  been 
secured.  These  had  been  already  published  in  the 
Southern  newspapers,  and  have  been  just  reprinted  in 
our  own.  As  the  former  notice  had  availed  nothing, 
this  second  expedient  was  thought  necessary  to  be 
employed. 

"After  some  reflection,  it  occurred  to  me  that  it  might 
be  proper  to  renew  the  attempt  which  Williams  had  made 
to  trace  the  footsteps  of  his  friend  to  the  moment  of  his 
final  disappearance.  He  had  pursued  Watson  to  Thet- 
ford's ;  but  Thetford  himself  had  not  been  seen,  and  he 
had  been  contented  with  the  vague  information  of  his 
clerk.  Thetford  and  his  family,  including  his  clerk,  had 
perished,  and  it  seemed  as  if  this  source  of  information 
was  dried  up.  It  was  possible,  however,  that  old  Thet 
ford  might  have  some  knowledge  of  his  nephew's  trans 
actions,  by  which  some  light  might  chance  to  be  thrown 
upon  this  obscurity.  I  therefore  called  on  him,  but 
found  him  utterly  unable  to  afford  me  the  light  that  I 
wished.  My  mention  of  the  packet  which  Watson  had 
brought  to  Thetford,  containing  documents  respecting 
the  capture  of  a  certain  ship,  reminded  him  of  the  in 
juries  which  he  had  received  from  Welbeck,  and  excited 
him  to  renew  his  menaces  and  imputations  on  that 
wretch.  Having  somewhat  exhausted  this  rhetoric,  ho 
proceeded  to  tell  me  what  connection  there  was  between 
the  remembrance-of  his  injuries  and  the  capture  of  this 
vessel. 

"This  vessel  and  its  cargo  were,  in  fact,  the  property 
of  Welbeck.  They  had  been  sent  to  a  good  market,  and 
had  been  secured  by  an  adequate  insurance.  The  value 
of  this  ship  and  cargo,  and  the  validity  of  the  policy,  he 
had  taken  care  to  ascertain  by  means  of  his  two  nephews, 
one  of  whom  had  gone  out  supercargo.  This  had  formed 
his  inducement  to  lend  his  three  notes  to  Welbeck,  in 
exchange  for  three  other  notes,  the  whole  amount  of 
which  included  the  equitable  interest  of  jive  per  cent, 
per  month  on  his  own  loan.  For  the  payment  of  these 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  2Q 

notes  he  by  no  means  relied,  as  the  world  foolishly 
imagined,  on  the  seeming  opulence  and  secret  funds  of 
Welbeck.  These  were  illusions  too  gross  to  have  any 
influence  on  him.  He  was  too  old  a  bird  to  be  decoyed 
into  the  net  by  such  chaff.  No  ;  his  nephew,  the  super 
cargo,  would  of  course  receive  the  produce  of  the  voyage, 
and  so  much  of  this  produce  as  would  pay  his  debt  he 
had  procured  the  owner's  authority  to  intercept  its  pas 
sage  from  the  pocket  of  his  nephew  to  that  of  Welbeck. 
In  case  of  loss,  he  had  obtained  a  similar  security  upon 
the  policy.  Jamieson's  proceedings  had  been  the  same 
with  his  own,  and  no  affair  in  which  he  had  ever  engaged 
had  appeared  to  be  more  free  from  hazard  than  this. 
Their  calculations,  however,  though  plausible,  were  de 
feated.  The  ship  was  taken  and  condemned,  for  a  cause 
which  rendered  the  insurance  ineffectual. 

"I  bestowed  no  time  in  reflecting  on  this  tissue  of 
extortions  and  frauds,  and  on  that  course  of  events 
which  so  often  disconcerts  the  stratagems  of  cunning. 
The  names  of  Welbeck  and  Watson  were  thus  associated 
together,  and  filled  my  thoughts  with  restlessness  and 
suspicion.  Welbeck  was  capable  of  any  weakness.  It 
was  possible  an  interview  had  happened  between  these 
men,  and  that  the  fugitive  had  been  someway  instru 
mental  in  Watson's  fate.  These  thoughts  were  men 
tioned  to  "Williams,  whom  the  name  of  Welbeck  threw 
into  the  utmost  perturbation.  On  finding  that  one  of 
this  name  had  dwelt  in  this  city,  and  that  he  had  proved 
a  villain,  he  instantly  admitted  the  most  dreary  fore 
bodings. 

"'I  have  heard,'  said  Williams,  'the  history  of  this 
Welbeck  a  score  of  times  from  my  brother.  There  for 
merly  subsisted  a  very  intimate  connection  between  them. 
My  brother  had  conferred,  upon  one  whom  he  thought 
honest,  innumerable  benefits;  but  all  his  benefits  had 
been  repaid  by  the  blackest  treachery.  Welbeck's  cha 
racter  and  guilt  had  often  been  made  the  subject  of 
talk  between  us,  but,  on  these  occasions,  my  brother's 
placid  and  patient  temper  forsook  him.  His  grief  for 
the  calamities  which  had  sprung  from  this  man,  and  his 
desire  of  revenge,  burst  all  bounds,  and  transported  him 


3O  ARTHUR  MERVYN. 

to  a  pitch  of  temporary  frenzy.  I  often  inquired  in 
what  manner  he  intended  to  act  if  a  meeting  should  take 
place  between  them.  He  answered,  that  doubtless  he 
should  act  like  a  maniac,  in  defiance  of  his  sober  prin 
ciples,  and  of  the  duty  which  he  owed  his  family. 

"  'What !  (said  I,)  would  you  stab  or  pistol  him  ? 

"  'No.  I  was  not  born  for  an  assassin.  I  would  upbraid 
him  in  such  terms  as  the  furious  moment  might  suggest, 
and  then  challenge  him  to  a  meeting,  from  which  either 
he  or  I  should  not  part  with  life.  I  would  allow  time 
for  him  to  make  his  peace  with  Heaven,  and  for  me  to 
blast  his  reputation  upon  earth,  and  to  make  such  pro 
vision  for  my  possible  death  as  duty  and  discretion 
would  prescribe. 

"  'Now,  nothing  is  more  probable  than  that  Welbeck 
and  my  brother  have  met.  Thetford  would  of  course 
mention  his  name  and  interest  in  the  captured  ship,  and 
hence  the  residence  of  this  detested  being  in  this  city 
would  be  made  known.  Their  meeting  could  not  take 
place  without  some  dreadful  consequence.  I  am  fearful 
that  to  that  meeting  we  must  impute  the  disappearance 
of  my  brother.' 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

"  HERE  was  new  light  thrown  upon  the  character  of 
Welbeck,  and  new  food  administered  to  my  suspicions. 
No  conclusion  could  be  more  plausible  than  that  which 
Williams  had  drawn  ;  but  how  should  it  be  rendered  cer 
tain  ?  Walter  Thetford,  or  some  of  his  family,  had  pos 
sibly  been  witnesses  of  something,  which,  added  to  our 
previous  knowledge,  might  strengthen  or  prolong  that 
clue,  one  end  of  which  seemed  now  to  be  put  into  our 
hands ;  but  Thetford's  father-in-law  was  the  only  one  of 
his  family,  who,  by  seasonable  flight  from  the  city,  had 
escaped  the  pestilence.  To  him,  who  still  resided  in 
the  country,  I  repaired  with  all  speed,  accompanied  by 
Williams. 

"  The  old  man,  being  reminded,  by  a  variety  of  cir 
cumstances,  of  the  incidents  of  that  eventful  period, 
was,  at  length,  enabled  to  relate  that  he  had  been  pre 
sent  at  the  meeting  which  took  place  between  Watson 
and  his  son  Walter,  when  certain  packets  were  delivered 
by  the  former,  relative,  as  he  quickly  understood,  to  the 
condemnation  of  a  ship  in  which  Thomas  Thetford  had 
gone  supercargo.  He  had  noticed  some  emotion  of  the 
stranger,  occasioned  by  his  son's  mentioning  the  concern 
which  Welbeck"  had  in  the  vessel.  He  likewise  remem 
bered  the  stranger's  declaring  his  intention  of  visiting 
Welbeck,  and  requesting  Walter  to  afford  him  directions 
to  his  house. 

"'Next  morning  at  the  breakfast-table,'  continued 
the  old  man,  'I  adverted  to  yesterday's  incidents,  and 
asked  my  son  how  Welbeck  had  borne  the  news  of  the 
loss  of  his  ship.  "He  bore  it,"  said  Walter,  "as  a  man 
of  his  wealth  ought  to  bear  so  trivial  a  loss.  But  there 

31 


34  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

artfully  prepared  by  Welbeck,  the  pupil  made  his  ap 
pearance;  and,  in  a  conversation  full  of  studied  ambi 
guities,  assured  the  lady  that  her  nephew  was  dead.  For 
the  present  he  declined  relating  the  particulars  of  his 
death,  and  displayed  a  constancy  and  intrepidity  in  re 
sisting  her  entreaties  that  would  have  been  admirable 
in  a  better  cause.  Before  she  had  time  to  fathom  this 
painful  mystery,  Welbeck's  frauds  were  in  danger  of 
detection,  and  he  and  his  pupil  suddenly  disappeared. 

"While  the  plot  was  going  forward,  there  occurred  an 
incident  which  the  plotters  had  not  foreseen  or  precluded, 
and  which  possibly  might  have  created  some  confusion  or 
impediment  in  their  designs.  A  bundle  was  found  one 
night  in  the  street,  consisting  of  some  coarse  clothes, 
and  containing,  in  the  midst  of  it,  the  miniature  portrait 
of  Mrs.  Wentworth's  nephew.  It  fell  into  the  hands  of 
one  of  that  lady's  friends,  who  immediately  despatched 
the  bundle  to  her.  Mervyn,  in  his  interview  with  this 
lady,  spied  the  portrait  on  the  mantel-piece.  Led  by 
some  freak  of  fancy,  or  some  web  of  artifice,  he  intro 
duced  the  talk  respecting  her  nephew,  by  boldly  claiming 
it  as  his ;  but,  when  the  mode  in  which  it  had  been  found 
was  mentioned,  he  was  disconcerted  and  confounded,  and 
precipitately  withdrew. 

"  This  conduct,  and  the  subsequent  flight  of  the  lad, 
afforded  ground  enough  to  question  the  truth  of  his  in 
telligence  respecting  her  nephew;  but  it  has  since  been 
confuted,  in  a  letter  just  received  from  her  brother  in 
England.  In  this  letter,  she  is  informed  that  her  nephew 
had  been  seen  by  one  who  knew  him  well,  in  Charleston ; 
that  some  intercourse  took  place  between  the  youth  and 
the  bearer  of  the  news,  in  the  course  of  which  the  latter 
had  persuaded  the  nephew  to  return  to  his  family,  and 
that  the  youth  had  given  some  tokens  of  compliance. 
The  letter-writer,  who  was  father  to  the  fugitive,  had 
written  to  certain  friends  at  Charleston,  entreating  them 
to  use  their  influence  with  the  runaway  to  the  same  end, 
and,  at  any  rate,  to  cherish  and  protect  him.  Thus,  I 
hope  you  will  admit  that  the  duplicity  of  Mervyn  is  de 
monstrated." 

"  The  facts  which  you  have  mentioned,"  said  I,  after 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  35 

some  pause,  "partly  correspond  with  Mervyn's  story; 
bat  the  last  particular  is  irreconcilably  repugnant  to  it. 
Now,  for  the  first  time,  I  begin  to  feel  that  my  confidence 
is  shaken.  I  feel  my  mind  bewildered  and  distracted  by 
the  multitude  of  new  discoveries  which  have  just  taken 
place.  I  want  time  to  revolve  them  slowly,  to  weigh 
them  accurately,  and  to  estimate  their  consequences 
fully.  I  am  afraid  to  speak ;  fearing  that,  in  the  pre 
sent  trouble  of  my  thoughts,  I  may  say  something  which 
I  may  afterwards  regret.  I  want  a  counsellor ;  but  you, 
Wortley,  are  unfit  for  the  office.  Your  judgment  is  un 
furnished  with  the  same  materials ;  your  sufferings  have 
soured  your  humanity  and  biassed  your  candour.  The 
only  one  qualified  to  divide  with  me  these  cares,  and  aid 
in  selecting  the  best  mode  of  action,  is  my  wife.  She 
fe  mistress  of  Mervyn's  history ;  an  observer  of  his  con 
duct  during  his  abode  with  us ;  and  is  hindered,  by  her 
education  and  temper,  from  deviating  into  rigour  and 
malevolence.  Will  you  pardon  me,  therefore,  if  I  defer 
commenting  on  your  narrative  till  I  have  had  an  oppor 
tunity  of  reviewing  it  and  comparing  it  with  my  know 
ledge  of  the  lad,  collected  from  himself  and  from  my 
own  observation?" 

Wortley  could  not  but  admit  the  justice  of  my  request, 
and,  after  some  desultory  conversation,  we  parted.  I 
hastened  to  communicate  to  my  wife  the  various  intelli 
gence  which  I  had  lately  received.  Mrs.  Althorpe's  por 
trait  of  the  Mervyns  contained  lineaments  which  the 
summary  detail  of  Arthur  did  not  enable  us  fully  to 
comprehend.  The  treatment  which  the  youth  is  said  to 
have  given  to  his  father;  the  illicit  commerce  that  sub 
sisted  between  him  and  his  father's  wife ;  the  pillage  of 
money  and  his  father's  horse,  but  ill  accorded  with  the 
tale  which  we  had  heard,  and  disquieted  our  minds  with 
doubts,  though  far  from  dictating  our  belief. 

What,  however,  more  deeply  absorbed  our  attention, 
was  the  testimony  of  Williams  and  of  Mrs.  Wentworth. 
That  which  was  mysterious  and  inscrutable  to  Wortley 
and  the  friends  of  Watson  was  luminous  to  us.  The 
coincidence  between  the  vague  hints  laboriously  collected 


36  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

by  these  inquirers,  and  the  narrative  of  Mervyn,  afforded 
the  most  cogent  attestation  of  the  truth  of  that  narrative. 

Watson  had  vanished  from  all  eyes,  but  the  spot  where 
rested  his  remains  was  known  to  us.  The  girdle  spoken 
of  by  Williams  would  not  be  suspected  to  exist  by  his 
murderer.  It  was  unmolested,  and  was  doubtless  buried 
with  him.  That  which  was  so  earnestly  sought,  and 
which  constituted  the  subsistence  of  the  Maurices,  would 
probably  be  found  adhering  to  his  body.  What  con 
duct  was  incumbent  upon  me  who  possessed  this  know 
ledge  ? 

It  was  just  to  restore  these  bills  to  their  true  owner ; 
but  how  could  this  be  done  without  hazardous  processes 
and  tedious  disclosures  ?  To  whom  ought  these  disclo 
sures  to  be  made  ?  By  what  authority  or  agency  could 
these  half-decayed  limbs  be  dug  up,  and  the  lost  trea 
sure  be  taken  from  amidst  the  horrible  corruption  in 
which  it  was  immersed  ? 

This  ought  not  to  be  the  act  of  a  single  individual. 
This  act  would  entangle  him  in  a  maze  of  perils  and  sus 
picions,  of  concealments  and  evasions,  from  which  he 
could  not  hope  to  escape  with  his  reputation  inviolate. 
The  proper  method  was  through  the  agency  of  the  law. 
It  is  to  this  that  Mervyn  must  submit  his  conduct.  The 
story  which  he  told  to  me  he  must  tell  to  the  world. 
Suspicions  have  fixed  themselves  upon  him,  which  allow 
him  not  the  privilege  of  silence  arid  obscurity.  While 
he  continued  unknown  and  urithought  of,  the  publication 
of  his  story  would  only  give  unnecessary  birth  to  dan 
gers;  but  now  dangers  are  incurred  which  it  may  proba 
bly  contribute  to  lessen,  if  not  to  remove. 

Meanwhile  the  return  of  Mervyu  to  the  city  was 
anxiously  expected.  Day  after  day  passed,  and  no 
tidings  were  received.  I  had  business  of  an  urgent  na 
ture  which  required  my  presence  in  Jersey,  but  which, 
in  the  daily  expectation  of  the  return  of  my  young 
friend,  I  postponed  a  week  longer  than  rigid  discretion 
allowed.  At  length  I  was  obliged  to  comply  with  the 
exigence,  and  left  the  city,  but  made  such  arrangements 
that  I  should  be  apprized  by  my  wife  of  Mervyn's  return 
with  all  practicable  expedition. 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  /79J-  37 

These  arrangements  were  superfluous,  for  my  business 
was  despatched,  and  my  absence  at  an  end,  before  the 
youth  had  given  us  any  tokens  of  his  approach.  I  now 
remembered  the  warnings  of  Wortley,  and  his  assertions 
that  Mervyn  had  withdrawn  himself  forever  from  our 
view.  The  event  had  hitherto  unwelcomely  coincided 
with  these  predictions,  and  a  thousand  doubts  and  mis 
givings  were  awakened. 

One  evening,  whil*  preparing  to  shake  off  gloomy 
thoughts  by  a  visit  to  a  friend,  some  one  knocked  at  my 
door,  and  left  a  billet  containing  these  words : — 

"Dr.  Stevens  is  requested  to  come  immediately  to  the 
Debtors'  Apartments  in  Prune  Street." 

This  billet  was  without  signature.  The  handwriting 
was  unknown,  and  the  precipitate  departure  of  the  bearer 
left  me  wholly  at  a  loss  with  respect  to  the  person  of  the 
writer,  or  the  end  for  which  my  presence  was  required. 
This  uncertainty  only  hastened  my  compliance  with  the 
summons. 

The  evening  was  approaching, — a  time  when  the  pri 
son-doors  are  accustomed  to  be  shut  and  strangers  to 
be  excluded.  This  furnished  an  additional  reason  for 
despatch.  As  I  walked  swiftly  along,  I  revolved  the 
possible  motives  that  might  have  prompted  this  message. 
A  conjecture  was  soon  formed,  which  led  to  apprehension 
and  inquietude. 

One  of  my  friends,  by  name  Carlton,  was  embarrassed 
with  debts  which  he  was  unable  to  discharge.  He  had 
lately  been  menaced  with  arrest  by  a  creditor  not  accus 
tomed  to  remit  any  of  his  claims.  I  dreaded  that  this 
catastrophe  had  now  happened,  and  called  to  mind  the 
anguish  with  which  this  untoward  incident  would  over 
whelm  his  family.  I  knew  his  incapacity  to  take  away 
the  claim  of  his  creditor  by  payment,  or  to  soothe  him 
into  clemency  by  supplication. 

So  prone  is  the  human  mind  to  create  for  itself  dis 
tress,  that  I  was  not  aware  of  the  uncertainty  of  this 
evil  till  I  arrived  at  the  prison.  I  checked  myself  at  the 
moment  when  I  opened  my  lips  to  utter  the  name  of  my 
friend,  and  was  admitted  without  particular  inquiries.  I 


38  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

supposed  that  he  by  whom  I  had  heen  summoned  hither 
would  meet  me  in  the  common  room. 

The  apartment  was  filled  with  pale  faces  and  withered 
forms.  The  marks  of  negligence  and  poverty  were  visible 
in  all ;  but  few  betrayed,  in  their  features  or  gestures, 
any  symptoms  of  concern  on  account  of  their  condition. 
Ferocious  gayety,  or  stupid  indifference,  seemed  to  sit 
upon  every  brow.  The  vapour  from  a  heated  stove, 
mingled  with  the  fumes  of  beer  and  tallow  that  were 
spilled  upon  it,  and  with  the  tainted  breath  of  so  pro 
miscuous  a  crowd,  loaded  the  stagnant  atmosphere.  At 
my  first  transition  from  the  cold  and  pure  air  without, 
to  this  noxious  element,  I  found  it  difficult  to  breathe. 
A  moment,  however,  reconciled  me  to  my  situation,  and 
I  looked  anxiously  round  to  discover  some  face  which  I 
knew. 

Almost  every  mouth  was  furnished  with  a  cigar,  and 
every  hand  with  a  glass  of  porter.  Conversation,  car 
ried  on  with  much  emphasis  of  tone  and  gesture,  was  not 
wanting.  Sundry  groups,  in  different  corners,  were 
beguiling  the  tedious  hours  at  whist.  Others,  unem 
ployed,  were  strolling  to  and  fro,  and  testified  their 
vacancy  of  thought  and  care  by  humming  or  whistling  a 
tune. 

I  fostered  the  hope  that  my  prognostics  had  deceived 
me.  This  hope  was  strengthened  by  reflecting  that  the 
billet  received  was  written  in  a  different  hand  from  that 
of  my  friend.  Meanwhile  I  continued  my  search. 
Seated  on  a  bench,  silent  and  aloof  from  the  crowd,  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  floor,  and  his  face  half  concealed  by 
his  hand,  a  form  was  at  length  discovered  which  verified 
all  my  conjectures  and  fears.  Carlton  was  he. 

My  heart  drooped  and  my  tongue  faltered  at  this 
sight.  I  surveyed  him  for  some  minutes  in  silence.  At 
length,  approaching  the  bench  on  which  he  sat,  I  touched 
his  hand  and  awakened  him  from  his  reverie.  He  looked 
up.  A  momentary  gleam  of  joy  and  surprise  was  suc 
ceeded  by  a  gloom  deeper  than  before. 

It  was  plain  that  my  friend  needed  consolation.  He 
was  governed  by  an  exquisite  sensibility  to  disgrace. 
He  was  impatient  of  constraint.  He  shrunk,  with  fasti- 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR   1793.  39 

dious  abhorrence,  from  the  contact  of  ^the  vulgar  and 
the  profligate.  His  constitution  was  delicate  and  feeble. 
Impure  airs,  restraint  from  exercise,  unusual  aliment, 
unwholesome  or  incommodious  accommodations,  and  per 
turbed  thoughts,  were,  at  any  time,  sufficient  to  generate 
disease  and  to  deprive  him  of  life. 

To  these  evils  he  was  now  subjected.  He  had  no 
money  wherewith  to  purchase  food.  He  had  been  dragged 
hither  in  the  morning.  He  had  not  tasted  a  morsel  since 
his  entrance.  He  had  not  provided  a  bed  on  which  to 
lie ;  or  inquired  in  what  room,  or  with  what  companions, 
the  night  was  to  be  spent. 

Fortitude  was  not  among  my  friend's  qualities.  He 
was  more  prone  to  shrink  from  danger  than  encounter 
it,  and  to  yield  to  the  flood  rather  than  sustain  it ;  but 
it  is  just  to  observe  that  his  anguish,  on  the  present 
occasion,  arose  not  wholly  from  selfish  considerations. 
His  parents  were  dead,  and  two  sisters  were  dependent 
on  him  for  support.  One  of  these  was  nearly  of  his 
own  age.  The  other  was  scarcely  emerged  from  child 
hood.  There  was  an  intellectual  as  well  as  a  personal 
resemblance  between  my  friend  and  his  sisters.  They 
possessed  his  physical  infirmities,  his  vehement  passions, 
and  refinements  of  taste;  and  the  misery  of  his  con 
dition  was  tenfold  increased,  by  reflecting  on  the  feelings 
which  would  be  awakened  in  them  by  the  knowledge  of 
his  state,  and  the  hardships  to  which  the  loss  of  his  suc 
cour  would  expose  them. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

IT  was  not  in  my  power  to  release  my  friend  by  the 
payment  of  his  debt ;  but,  by  contracting  with  the  keeper 
of  the  prison  for  his  board,  I  could  save  him  from  famine ; 
and,  by  suitable  exertions,  could  procure  him  lodging  aa 
convenient  as  the  time  would  admit.  I  could  promise  to 
console  and  protect  his 'sisters,  and,  by  cheerful  tones  and 
frequent  visits,  dispel  some  part  of  the  evil  which  encom 
passed  him. 

After  the  first  surprise  had  subsided,  he  inquired  by 
what  accident  this  meeting  had  been  produced.  Con 
scious  of  my  incapacity  to  do  him  any  essential  service, 
and  unwilling  to  make  me  a  partaker  in  his  miseries,  he 
had  forborne  to  inform  me  of  his  condition. 

This  assurance  was  listened  to  with  some  wonder.  I 
showed  him  the  billet.  It  had  not  been  written  by  him. 
He  was  a  stranger  to  the  penmanship.  None  but  the 
attorney  and  officer  were  apprized  of  his  fate.  It  was 
obvious  to  conclude,  that  this  was  the  interposition  of 
some  friend,  who,  knowing  my  affection  for  Carlton, 
had  taken  this  mysterious  method  of  calling  me  to  his 
succour. 

Conjectures  as  to  the  author  and  motives  of  this  inter 
position  were  suspended  by  more  urgent  considerations. 
1  requested  an  interview  with  the  keeper,  and  inquired 
how  Carlton  could  be  best  accommodated. 

He  said  that  all  his  rooms  were  full  but  one,  which,  in 
consequence  of  the  dismission  of  three  persons  in  the 
morning,  had  at  present  but  one  tenant.  This  person 
had  lately  arrived,  was  sick,  and  had  with  him,  at  this 
time,  one  of  his  friends.  Carlton  might  divide  the 
chamber  with  this  person.  No  doubt  his  consent  would 
40 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  4! 

be  readily  given;  though  this  arrangement,  being  the 
best,  must  take  place  whether  he  consented  or  not. 

This  consent  I  resolved  immediately  to  seek,  and,  for 
that  purpose,  desired  to  be  led  to  the  chamber.  The 
door  of  the  apartment  was  shut.  I  knocked  for  ad 
mission.  It  was  instantly  opened,  and  I  entered.  The 
first  person  who  met  my  view  was — Arthur  Mervyn. 

I  started  with  astonishment.  Mervyn's  countenance 
betrayed  nothing  btit  satisfaction  at  the  interview.  The 
traces  of  fatigue  and  anxiety  gave  place  to  tenderness 
and  joy.  It  readily  occurred  to  me  that  Mervyn  was 
the  writer  of  the  note  which  I  had  lately  received.  To 
meet  him  within  these  walls,  and  at  this  time,  was  the 
most  remote  and  undesirable  of  all  contingencies.  The 
same  hour  had  thus  made  me  acquainted  with  the  kindred 
and  unwelcome  fate  of  two  beings  whom  I  most  loved. 

I  had  scarcely  time  to  return  his  embrace,  when, 
taking  my  hand,  he  led  me  to  a  bed  that  stood  in  one 
corner.  There  was  stretched  upon  it  one  whom  a  second 
glance  enabled  me  to  call  by  his  name,  though  I  had  never 
before  seen  him.  The  vivid  portrait  which  Mervyn  had 
drawn  was  conspicuous  in  the  sunken  and  haggard  visage 
before  me.  This  face  had,  indeed,  proportions  and  lines 
which  could  never  be  forgotten  or  mistaken.  Welbeck, 
when  once  seen  or  described,  was  easily  distinguished  from 
the  rest  of  mankind.  He  had  stronger  motives  than 
other  men  for  abstaining  from  guilt,  the  difficulty  of  con 
cealment  or  disguise  being  tenfold  greater  in  him  than 
in  others,  by  reason  of  the  indelible  and  eye-attracting 
marks  which  nature  had  set  upon  him. 

He  was  pallid  and  emaciated.  He  did  not  open  his 
eyes  on  my  entrance.  He  seemed  to  be  asleep ;  but, 
before  I  had  time  to  exchange  glances  with  Mervyn,  or 
to  inquire  into  the  nature  of  the  scene,  he  awoke.  On 
seeing  me  he  started,  and  cast  a  look  of  upbraiding  on 
my  companion.  The  latter  comprehended  his  emotion, 
and  endeavoured  to  appease  him. 

"This  person,"  said  he,  "is  my  friend.  He  is  like 
wise  a  physician ;  and,  perceiving  your  state  to  require 
medical  assistance,  I  ventured  to  send  for  him." 

Welbeck   replied,  in  a  contemptuous   and  indignant 


42  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

tone,  "Thou  mistakest  my  condition,  boy.  My  disease 
lies  deeper  than  his  scrutiny  will  ever  reach.  I  had 
hoped  thou  wert  gone.  Thy  importunities  are  well  meant, 
but  they  aggravate  my  miseries." 

He  now  rose  from  the  bed,  and  continued,  in  a  firm 
and  resolute  tone,  "You  are  intruders  into  this  apart 
ment.  It  is  mine,  and  I  desire  to  be  left  alone." 

Mcrvyn  returned,  at  first,  no  answer  to  this  address. 
He  was  immersed  in  perplexity.  At  length,  raising  his 
eyes  from  the  floor,  he  said,  "My  intentions  are  indeed 
honest,  and  I  am  grieved  that  I  want  the  power  of  per 
suasion.  To-morrow,  perhaps,  I  may  reason  more  cogently 
with  your  despair,  or  your  present  mood  may  be  changed. 
To  aid  my  own  weakness  I  will  entreat  the  assistance  of 
this  friend." 

These  words  roused  a  new  spirit  in  Welbeck.  His 
confusion  and  anger  increased.  His  tongue  faltered  as 
he  exclaimed,  "Good  God!  what  mean  you?  Headlong 
and  rash  as  you  are,  you  will  not  share  with  this  person 
your  knowledge  of  me?"  Here  he  checked  himself, 
conscious  that  the  words  he  had  already  uttered  tended 
to  the  very  end  which  he  dreaded.  This  conscious 
ness,  added  to  the  terror  of  more  ample  disclosures, 
which  the  simplicity  and  rectitude  of  Mervyn  might 
prompt  him  to  make,  chained  up  his  tongue,  and  covered 
him  with  dismay, 

Mervyn  was  not  long  in  answering : — "  I  comprehend 
your  fears  and  your  wishes.  I  am  bound  to  tell  you  the 
truth.  To  this  person  your  story  has  already  been  told. 
Whatever  I  have  witnessed  under  your  roof,  whatever 
I  have  heard  from  your  lips,  have  been  faithfully  dis 
closed  to  him." 

The  countenance  of  Welbeck  now  betrayed  a  mixture 
of  incredulity  and  horror.  For  a  time  his  utterance  was 
stifled  by  his  complicated  feelings : — 

"It  cannot  be.  So  enormous  a  deed  is  beyond  thy 
power.  Thy  qualities  are  marvellous.  Every  new  act 
of  thine  outstrips  the  last,  and  belies  the  newest  calcula 
tions.  But  this — this  perfidy  exceeds — this  outrage 
upon  promises,  this  violation  of  faith,  this  blindness  to 
the  future,  is  incredible."  There  he  stopped;  while  his 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR   i?93-  43 

looks  seemed  to  call  upon  Mervyn  for  a  contradiction  of 
his  first  assertion. 

"I  know  full  well  how  inexpiably  stupid  or  wicked  my 
act  will  appear  to  you,  but  I  will  not  prevaricate  or  lie. 
I  repeat,  that  every  thing  is  known  to  him.  Your  birth ; 
your  early  fortunes;  the  incidents  at  Charleston  and 
Wilmington;  your  treatment  of  the  brother  and  sister; 
your  interview  with  Watson,  and  the  fatal  issue  of  that 
interview — I  have  told  him  all,  just  as  it  was  told  to  me.M 

Here  the  shock  that  was  felt  by  Welbeck  overpowered 
his  caution  and  his  strength.  He  sunk  upon  the  side  of 
the  bed.  His  air  was  still  incredulous,  and  he  continued 
to  gaze  upon  Mervyn.  He  spoke  in  a  tone  less  vehe 
ment  : — 

"  And  hast  thou  then  betrayed  me  ?  Hast  thou  shut 
every  avenue  to  my  return  to  honour  ?  Am  I  known  to 
be  a  seducer  and  assassin  ?  To  have  meditated  all 
crimes,  and  to  have  perpetrated  the  worst  ? 

"Infamy  and  death  are  my  portion.  I  know  they  are 
reserved  for  me ;  but  I  did  not  think  to  receive  them  at 
thy  hands,  that  under  that  innocent  guise  there  lurked 
a  heart  treacherous  and  cruel.  But  go ;  leave  me  to 
myself.  This  stroke  has  exterminated  my  remnant  of 
hope.  Leave  me  to  prepare  my  neck  for  the  halter,  and 
my  lips  for  this  last  and  bitterest  cup." 

Mervyn  struggled  with  his  tears,  and  replied,  "All 
this  was  foreseen,  and  all  this  I  was  prepared  to  endure. 
My  friend  and  I  will  withdraw,  as  you  wish ;  but  to 
morrow  I  return ;  not  to  vindicate  my  faith  or  my 
humanity ;  not  to  make  you  recant  your  charges,  or 
forgive  the  faults  which  I  seem  to  have  committed,  but 
to  extricate  you  from  your  present  evil,  or  to  arm  you 
with  fortitude." 

So  saying,  he  led  the  way  out  of  the  room.  I  fol 
lowed  him  in  silence.  The  strangeness  and  abruptness 
of  this  scene  left  me  no  power  to  assume  a  part  in  it.  I 
looked  on  with  new  and  indescribable  sensations.  I 
reached  the  street  before  my  recollection  was  perfectly 
recovered.  I  then  reflected  on  the  purpose  that  had  led 
ine  to  WTelbeck's  chamber.  This  purpose  was  yet  unac 
complished.  I  desired  Mervyn  to  linger  a  moment  while 


44  ARTHUR   MERVYN;    OR, 

I  returned  into  the  house.  I  once  more  inquired  for  the 
keeper,  and  told  him  I  should  leave  to  him  the  province 
of  acquainting  Welbeck  with  the  necessity  of  sharing 
his  apartment  with  a  stranger.  I  speedily  rejoined 
Mervyn  in  the  street. 

I  lost  no  time  in  requiring  an  explanation  of  the  scene 
that  I  had  witnessed.  "How  became  you  once  more  the 
companion  of  Welbeck  ?  Why  did  you  not  inform  me 
by  letter  of  your  arrival  at  Malverton,  and  of  what 
occurred  during  your  absence  ?  What  is  the  fate  of  Mr. 
Hadwin  and  of  Wallace?" 

"Alas!"  said  he,  "I  perceive  that,  though  I  have 
written,  you  have  never  received  my  letters.  The  tale 
of  what  has  occurred  since  we  parted  is  long  and  various. 
I  am  not  only  willing  but  eager  to  communicate  the  story ; 
but  this  is  no  suitable  place.  Have  patience  till  we  reach 
your  house.  I  have  involved  myself  in  perils  and  em 
barrassments  from  which  I  depend  upon  your  counsel 
and  aid  to  release  me." 

I  had  scarcely  reached  my  own  door,  when  I  was  over 
taken  by  a  servant,  whom  I  knew  to  belong  to  the  family 
in  which  Carlton  and  his  sisters  resided.  Her  message, 
therefore,  was  readily  guessed.  She  came,  as  I  expected, 
to  inquire  for  my  friend,  who  had  left  his  home  in  the 
morning  with  a  stranger,  and  had  not  yet  returned. 
His  absence  had  occasioned  some  inquietude,  and  his 
sister  had  sent  this  message  to  me,  to  procure  what  in 
formation  respecting  the  cause  of  his  detention  I  was 
able  to  give. 

My  perplexity  hindered  me,  for  some  time,  from 
answering.  I  was  willing  to  communicate  the  painful 
truth  with  my  own  mouth.  I  saw  the  necessity  of  put 
ting  an  end  to  her  suspense,  and  of  preventing  the  news 
from  reaching  her  with  fallacious  aggravations  or  at  an 
unseasonable  time. 

I  told  the  messenger  that  I  had  just  parted  with  Mr. 
Carlton,  that  he  was  well,  and  that  I  would  speedily  coone 
and  acquaint  his  sister  with  the  cause  of  his  absence. 

Though  burning  with  curiosity  respecting  Mervyn  and 
Welbeck,  I  readily  postponed  its  gratification  till  my 
visit  to  Miss  Carlton  was  performed.  I  had  rarely  seen 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  J?9J.  45 

this  lady ;  my  friendship  for  her  hrother,  though  ardent, 
having  been  lately  formed,  and  chiefly  matured  by  inter 
views  at  my  house.  I  had  designed  to  introduce  her  to 
my  wife,  but  various  accidents  had  hindered  the  execu 
tion  of  my  purpose.  Now  consolation  and  counsel  were 
more  needed  than  ever,  and  delay  or  reluctance  in 
bestowing  it  would  have  been,  in  a  high  degree,  un 
pardonable. 

I  therefore  parted  with  Mervyn,  requesting  him  to 
await  my  return,  and  promising  to  perform  the  engage 
ment  which  compelled  me  to  leave  him,  with  the  utmost 
despatch.  On  entering  Miss  Carlton's  apartment,  I 
assumed  an  air  of  as  much  tranquillity  as  possible.  I 
found  the  lady  seated  at  a  desk,  with  pen  in  hand  and 
parchment  before  her.  She  greeted  me  with  affectionate 
dignity,  and  caught  from  my  countenance  that  cheerful 
ness  of  which  on  my  entrance  she  was  destitute. 

"You  come,"  said  she,  "to  inform  me  what  has  made 
my  brother  a  truant  to-day.  Till  your  message  was  re 
ceived  I  was  somewhat  anxious.  This  day  he  usually 
spends  in  rambling  through  the  fields ;  but  so  bleak  and 
stormy  an  atmosphere,  I  suppose,  would  prevent  his  ex 
cursion.  I  pray,  sir,  what  is  it  detains  him  ?" 

To  conquer  my  embarrassment,  and  introduce  the 
subject  by  indirect  and  cautious  means,  I  eluded  her 
question,  and,  casting  an  eye  at  the  parchment, — "  How 
now?''  said  I;  "this  is  strange  employment  for  a  lady. 
I  knew  that  my  friend  pursued  this  trade,  and  lived  by 
binding  fast  the  bargains  which  others  made ;  but  I  knew 
not  that  the  pen  was  ever  usurped  by  his  sister." 

"The  usurpation  was  prompted  by  necessity.  My 
brother's  impatient  temper  and  delicate  frame  unfitted 
him  for  the  trade.  He  pursued  it  with  no  less  reluc 
tance  than  diligence,  devoting  to  the  task  three  nights 
in  the  week,  and  the  whole  of  each  day.  It  would  long 
ago  have  killed  him,  had  I  not  bethought  myself  of 
sharing  his  tasks.  The  pen  was  irksome  and  toilsome 
at  first,  but  use  has  made  it  easy,  and  far  more  eligible 
than  the  needle,  which  was  formerly  my  only  tool. 

"This  arrangement  affords  my  brother  opportunities 
of  exercise  and  recreation,  without  diminishing  our 


46  ARTHUR   MERVYN;    OR, 

profits ;  and  my  time,  though  not  less  constantly,  is 
more  agreeably,  as  well  as  more  lucratively,  employed 
than  formerly." 

"I  admire  your  reasoning.  By  this  means  provision 
is  made  against  untoward  accidents.  If  sickness  should 
disable  him,  you  are  qualified  to  pursue  the  same  means 
of  support." 

At  these  words  the  lady's  countenance  changed.  She 
put  her  hand  on  my  arm,  and  said,  in  a  fluttering  and 
hurried  accent,  "Is  my  brother  sick  ?" 

"No.  He  is  in  perfect  health.  My  observation  was 
a  harmless  one.  I  am  sorry  to  observe  your  readiness 
to  draw  alarming  inferences.  If  I  were  to  say  that  your 
scheme  is  useful  to  supply  deficiencies,  not  only  when 
your  brother  is  disabled  by  sickness,  but  when  thrown, 
by  some  inhuman  creditor,  into  jail,  no  doubt  you  would 
perversely  and  hastily  infer  that  he  is  now  in  prison." 

I  had  scarcely  ended  the  sentence,  when  the  piercing 
eyes  of  the  lady  were  anxiously  fixed  upon  mine.  After 
a  moment's  pause,  she  exclaimed,  "The  inference,  in 
deed,  is  too  plain.  I  know  his  fate.  It  has  long  been 
foreseen  and  expected,  and  I  have  summoned  up  my 
equanimity  to  meet  it.  Would  to  Heaven  he  may  find 
the  calamity  as  light  as  I  should  find  it !  but  I  fear  his 
too  irritable  spirit." 

When  her  fears  were  confirmed,  she  started  out  into 
no  vehemence  of  exclamation.  She  quickly  suppressed 
a  few  tears  which  would  not  be  withheld,  and  listened 
to  my  narrative  of  what  had  lately  occurred,  with  tokens 
of  gratitude. 

Formal  consolation  was  superfluous.  Her  mind  was 
indeed  more  fertile  than  my  own  in  those  topics  which 
take  away  its  keenest  edge  from  affliction.  She  ob 
served  that  it  was  far  from  being  the  heaviest  calamity 
which  might  have  happened.  The  creditor  was  perhaps 
vincible  by  arguments  and  supplications.  If  these 
should  succeed,  the  disaster  would  not  only  be  removed, 
but  that  security  from  future  molestation  be  gained,  to 
which  they  had  for  a  long  time  been  strangers. 

Should  he  be  obdurate,  their  state  was  far  from  being 
Iiopeless.  Carltou's  situation  allowed  him  to  pursue  his 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  J?9J.  47 

profession.  His  gains  would  be  equal,  and  his  expenses 
would  not  be  augmented.  By  their  mutual  industry 
they  might  hope  to  amass  sufficient  to  discharge  the 
debt  at  no  very  remote  period. 

What  she  chiefly  dreaded  was  the  pernicious  influence 
of  dejection  and  sedentary  labour  on  her  brother's  health. 
Yet  this  was  not  to  be  considered  as  inevitable.  Forti 
tude  might  be  inspired  by  exhortation  and  example,  and 
no  condition  precluded  us  from  every  species  of  bodily 
exertion.  The  less  inclined  he  should  prove  to  cultivate 
the  means  of  deliverance  and  happiness  within  his  reach, 
the  more  necessary  it  became  for  her  to  stimulate  and 
fortify  his  resolution. 

If  I  were  captivated  by  the  charms  of  this  lady's  per 
son  and  carriage,  my  reverence  was  excited  by  these 
proofs  of  wisdom  and  energy.  I  zealously  promised  to 
concur  with  her  in  every  scheme  she  should  adopt  for 
her  own  or  her  brother's  advantage ;  and,  after  spending 
some  hours  with  her,  took  my  leave. 

I  now  regretted  the  ignorance  in  which  I  had  hitherto 
remained  respecting  this  lady.  That  she  was,  in  an 
eminent  degree,  feminine  and  lovely,  was  easily  dis 
covered;  but  intellectual  weakness  had  been  rashly  in 
ferred  from  external  frailty.  She  was  accustomed  to 
shrink  from  observation,  and  reserve  was  mistaken  for 
timidity.  I  called  on  Carlton  only  when  numerous  en 
gagements  would  allow,  and  when,  by  some  accident,  his 
customary  visits  had  been  intermitted.  On  those  occa 
sions,  my  stay  was  short,  and  my  attention  chiefly  con 
fined  to  her  brother.  I  now  resolved  to  atone  for  my 
ancient  negligence,  not  only  by  my  own  assiduities,  but 
by  those  of  my  wife. 

On  my  return  home,  I  found  Mervyn  and  my  wife  in 
earnest  discourse.  I  anticipated  the  shock  which  the 
sensibility  of  the  latter  would  receive  from  the  tidings 
which  I  had  to  communicate  respecting  Carlton.  I  was 
unwilling,  and  yet  perceived  the  necessity  of  disclosing 
the  truth.  I  desired  to  bring  these  women,  as  soon  as 
possible,  to  the  knowledge  of  each  other,  but  the  neces 
sary  prelude  to  this  was  an  acquaintance  with  the  dis 
aster  that  had  happened. 


48  ARTHUR  MERVYN. 

Scarcely  had  I  entered  the  room,  when  Mervyn  turned 
to  me,  and  said,  with  an  air  of  anxiety  and  impatience, 
"Pray,  my  friend,  have  you  any  knowledge  of  Francis 
Carlton  ?" 

The  mention  of  this  name  by  Mervyn  produced 
some  surprise.  I  acknowledged  my  acquaintance  with 
him. 

"Do  you  know  in  what  situation  he  now  is?" 

In  answer  to  this  question,  I  stated  by  what  singular 
means  his  situation  had  been  made  known  to  me,  and 
the  purpose  from  the  accomplishment  of  which  I  had 
just  returned.  I  inquired  in  my  turn,  "Whence  origi 
nated  this  question?" 

He  had  overheard  the  name  of  Carlton  in  the  prison. 
Two  persons  were  communing  in  a  corner,  and  accident 
enabled  him  to  catch  this  name,  though  uttered  by  them 
in  a  half  whisper,  and  to  discover  that  the  person  talked 
about  had  lately  been  conveyed  thither. 

This  name  was  not  now  heard  for  the  first  time.  It 
was  connected  with  remembrances  that  made  him  anxious 
for  the  fate  of  him  to  whom  it  belonged.  In  discourse 
with  my  wife,  this  name  chanced  to  be  again  mentioned, 
and  his  curiosity  was  roused  afresh.  I  was  willing  to 
communicate  all  that  I  knew,  but  Mervyn's  own  destiny 
was  too  remarkable  not  to  absorb  all  my  attention,  and 
I  refused  to  discuss  any  other  theme  till  that  were  fully 
explained.  He  postponed  his  own  gratification  to  mine, 
and  consented  to  relate  the  incidents  that  had  happened 
from  the  moment  of  our  separation  till  the  present. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

AT  parting  with  you,  my  purpose  was  to  reach  the 
abode  of  the  Hadwins  as  speedily  as  possible.  I  tra 
velled  therefore  with  diligence.  Setting  out  so  early,  I 
expected,  though  on  foot,  to  reach  the  end  of  my  journey 
before  noon.  The  activity  of  muscles  is  no  obstacle  to 

thought.     So  far  from  being:  inconsistent  with  intense 

•  •  •  i  i* 

musing,  it  is,  in  my  own  case,  propitious  to  that  state  of 

mind. 

Probably  no  one  had  stronger  motives  for  ardent  medi 
tation  than  I.  My  second  journey  to  the  city  was 
prompted  by  reasons,  and  attended  by  incidents,  that 
seemed  to  have  a  present  existence.  To  think  upon 
them  was  to  view,  more  deliberately  and  thoroughly, 
objects  and  persons  that  still  hovered  in  my  sight.  In 
stead  of  their  attributes  being  already  seen,  and  their 
consequences  at  an  end,  it  seemed  as  if  a  series  of  nu 
merous  years  and  unintermitted  contemplation  were 
requisite  to  comprehend  them  fully,  and  bring  into  ex 
istence  their  most  momentous  effects. 

If  men  be  chiefly  distinguished  from  each  other  by 
the  modes  in  which  attention  is  employed,  either  on 
external  and  sensible  objects,  or  merely  on  abstract 
ideas  and  the  creatures  of  reflection,  I  may  justly  claim 
to  be  enrolled  in  the  second  class.  My  existence  is  a 
series  of  thoughts  rather  than  of  motions.  Ratiocina 
tion  and  deduction  leave  my  senses  unemployed.  The 
fulness  of  my  fancy  renders  my  eye  vacant  and  inactive. 
Sensations  do  not  precede  and  suggest,  but  follow  and 
are  secondary  to,  the  acts  of  my  mind. 

There  was  one  motive,  however,  which  made  me  less 
inattentive  to  the  scene  that  was  continually  shifting 
4  49 


5O  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OK, 

before  and  without  me  than  I  am  wont  to  he.  The  love 
liest  form  which  I  had  hitherto  seen  was  that  of  Cle- 
menza  Lodi.  I  recalled  her  condition  as  I  had  witnessed 
it,  as  Welbeck  had  described,  and  as  you  had  painted  it. 
The  past  was  without  remedy;  but  the  future  was,  in 
some  degree,  within  our  power  to  create  and  to  fashion. 
Her  state  was  probably  dangerous.  She  might  already 
be  forlorn,  beset  with  temptation  or  with  anguish ;  or 
danger  might  only  be  approaching  her,  and  the  worst 
evils  be  impending  ones. 

I  was  ignorant  of  her  state.  Could  I  not  remove  this 
ignorance  ?  Would  not  some  benefit  redound  to  her  from 
beneficent  and  seasonable  interposition? 

You  had  mentioned  that  her  abode  had  lately  been 
with  Mrs.  Villars,  and  that  this  lady  still  resided  in  the 
country.  The  residence  had  been  sufficiently  described, 
and  I  perceived  that  I  was  now  approaching  it.  In  a 
short  time  I  spied  its  painted  roof  and  five  chimneys 
through  an  avenue  of  catalpaa. 

When  opposite  the  gate  which  led  into  this  avenue,  I 
paused.  It  seemed  as  if  this  moment  were  to  decide 
upon  the  liberty  and  innocence  of  this  being.  In  a  mo 
ment  I  might  place  myself  before  her,  ascertain  her  true 
condition,  and  point  out  to  her  the  path  of  honour  and 
safety.  This  opportunity  might  be  the  last.  Longer 
delay  might  render  interposition  fruitless. 

But  how  was  I  to  interpose  ?  I  was  a  stranger  to  her 
language,  and  she  was  unacquainted  with  mine.  To 
obtain  access  to  her,  it  was  necessary  only  to  demand  it. 
But  how  should  I  explain  my  views  and  state  my  wishes 
when  an  interview  was  gained  ?  And  what  expedient 
was  it  in  my  power  to  propose? 

"Now,"  said  I,  "I  perceive  the  value  of  that  wealth 
which  I  have  been  accustomed  to  despise.  The  power 
of  eating  and  drinking,  the  nature  and  limits  of  exist 
ence  and  physical  enjoyment,  are  not  changed  or  en 
larged  by  the  increase  of  wealth.  Our  corporeal  and 
intellectual  wants  are  supplied  at  little  expense  ;  but 
our  own  wants  are  the  wants  of  others,  and  that  which 
remains,  after  our  own  necessities  are  obviated,  it  is 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  /79J-  51 

always  easy  and  just  to  employ  in  relieving  the  necessi 
ties  of  others. 

"  There  are  no  superfluities  in  my  store.  It  is  not  in 
my  power  to  supply  this  unfortunate  girl  with  decent 
raiment  and  honest  bread.  I  have  no  house  to  which  to 
conduct  her.  I  have  no  means  of  securing  her  from 
famine  and  cold. 

"  Yet,  though  indigent  and  feeble,  I  am  not  destitute 
of  friends  and  of  home.  Cannot  she  be  admitted  to  the 
same  asylum  to  which  I  am  now  going?"  This  thought 
was  sudden  and  new.  The  more  it  was  revolved,  the 
more  plausible  it  seemed.  This  was  not  merely  the  sole 
expedient,  but  the  best  that  could  have  been  suggested. 

The  Hadwins  were  friendly,  hospitable,  unsuspicious. 
Their  board,  though  simple  and  uncouth,  was  wholesome 
and  plenteous.  Their  residence  was  sequestered  and 
obscure,  and  not  obnoxious  to  impertinent  inquiries  and 
malignant  animadversion.  Their  frank  and  ingenuous 
temper  would  make  them  easy  of  persuasion,  and  their 
sympathies  were  prompt  and  overflowing. 

"I  am  nearly  certain,"  continued  I,  "that  they  will 
instantly  afford  protection  to  this  desolate  girl.  Why 
shall  I  not  anticipate  their  consent,  and  present  my 
self  to  their  embraces  and  their  welcomes  in  her  com 
pany?" 

Slight  reflection  showed  me  that  this  precipitation 
was  improper.  Whether  Wallace  had  ever  arrived  at 
Malverton,  whether  Mr.  Hadwin  had  escaped  infection, 
whether  his  house  were  the  abode  of  security  and  quiet, 
or  a  scene  of  desolation,  were  questions  yet  to  be  deter 
mined.  The  obvious  and  best  proceeding  was  to  hasten 
forward,  to  afford  the  Hadwins,  if  in  distress,  the  feeble 
consolations  of  my  friendship ;  or,  if  their  state  were 
happy,  to  procure  their  concurrence  to  my  scheme  re 
specting  Clemenza. 

Actuated  by  these  considerations,  I  resumed  my  jour 
ney.  Looking  forward,  I  perceived  a  chaise  and  horse 
standing  by  the  left-hand  fence,  at  the  distance  of  some 
hundred  yards.  This  object  was  not  uncommon  or 
strange,  and,  therefore,  it  was  scarcely  noticed.  When 
I  came  near,  however,  inethought  I  recognised  in  this 


52  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

carriage  the  same  in  which  my  importunities  had  pro 
cured  a  seat  for  the  languishing  Wallace,  in  the  manner 
which  I  have  formerly  related. 

It  was  a  crazy  vehicle  and  old-fashioned.  When  once 
seen  it  could  scarcely  be  mistaken  or  forgotten.  The 
horse  was  held  hy  his  bridle  to  a  post,  but  the  seat  was 
empty.  My  solicitude  with  regard  to  Wallace's  destiny, 
of  which  he  to  whom  the  carriage  belonged  might  pos 
sibly  afford  me  some  knowledge,  made  me  stop  and 
reflect  on  what  measures  it  was  proper  to  pursue. 

The  rider  could  not  be  at  a  great  distance  from  this 
spot.  His  absence  would  probably  be  short.  By  linger 
ing  a  few  minutes  an  interview  might  be  gained,  and  the 
uncertainty  and  suspense  of  some  hours  be  thereby  pre 
cluded.  I  therefore  waited,  and  the  same  person  whom 
I  had  formerly  encountered  made  his  appearance,  in  a 
short  time,  from  under  a  copse  that  skirted  the  road. 

He  recognised  me  with  more  difficulty  than  attended 
my  recognition  of  him.  The  circumstances,  however,  of 
our  first  meeting  were  easily  recalled  to  his  remembrance. 
I  eagerly  inquired  when  and  where  he  had  parted  with 
the  youth  who  had  been,  on  that  occasion,  intrusted  to 
his  care. 

He  answered  that,  on  leaving  the  city  and  inhaling 
the  purer  air  of  the  fields  and  woods,  Wallace  had  been, 
in  a  wonderful  degree,  invigorated  and  refreshed.  An 
instantaneous  and  total  change  appeared  to  have  been 
wrought  in  him.  He  no  longer  languished  with  fatigue 
or  fear,  but  became  full  of  gayety  and  talk. 

The  suddenness  of  this  transition ;  the  levity  with 
which  he  related  and  commented  on  his  recent  dangers 
and  evils,  excited  the  astonishment  of  his  companion,  to 
whom  he  not  only  communicated  the  history  of  his  dis 
ease,  but  imparted  many  anecdotes  of  a  humorous  kind. 
Some  of  these  my  companion  repeated.  I  heard  them 
with  regret  and  dissatisfaction.  They  betokened  a  mind 
vitiated  by  intercourse  with  the  thoughtless  and  depraved 
of  both  sexes,  and  particularly  with  infamous  and  profli 
gate  women. 

My  companion  proceeded  to  mention  that  Wallace's 
exhilaration  lasted  but  for  a  short  time,  and  disappeared 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  53 

as  suddenly  as  it  had  appeared.  He  was  seized  with 
deadly  sickness,  and  insisted  upon  leaving  the  carriage, 
whose  movements  shocked  his  stomach  and  head  to  an 
insupportable  degree.  His  companion  was  not  void  of 
apprehensions  on  his  own  account,  but  was  unwilling  to 
desert  him,  and  endeavoured  to  encourage  him.  His 
efforts  were  vain.  Though  the  nearest  house  was  at  the 
distance  of  some  hundred  yards,  and  though  it  was  pro 
bable  that  the  inhabitants  of  this  house  would  refuse  to 
accommodate  one  in  his  condition,  yet  Wallace  could  not 
be  prevailed  on  to  proceed ;  and,  in  spite  of  persuasion 
and  remonstrance,  left  the  carnage  and  threw  himself  on 
the  grassy  bank  beside  the  road. 

This  person  was  not  unmindful  of  the  hazard  which 
he  incurred  by  contact  with  a  sick  man.  He  conceived 
himself  to  have  performed  all  that  was  consistent  with 
duty  to  himself  and  to  his  family ;  and  Wallace,  persist 
ing  in  affirming  that,  by  attempting  to  ride  farther,  he 
should  merely  hasten  his  death,  was  at  length  left  to  his 
own  guidance. 

These  were  unexpected  and  mournful  tidings.  I  had 
fondly  imagined  that  his  safety  was  put  beyond  the  reach 
of  untoward  accidents.  Now,  however,  there  was  reason 
to  suppose  him  to  have  perished  by  a  lingering  and  pain 
ful  disease,  rendered  fatal  by  the  selfishness  of  mankind, 
by  the  want  of  seasonable  remedies,  and  exposure  to  in 
clement  airs.  Some  uncertainty,  however,  rested  on  his 
fate.  It  was  my  duty  to  remove  it,  and  to  carry  to  the 
Hadwins  no  mangled  and  defective  tale.  Where,  I  asked, 
had  Wallace  and  his  companion  parted  ? 

It  was  about  three  miles  farther  onward.  The  spot, 
and  the  house  within  view  from  the  spot,  were  accurately 
described.  In  this  house  it  was  possible  that  Wallace 
had  sought  an  asylum,  and  some  intelligence  respecting 
him  might  be  gained  from  its  inhabitants.  My  informant 
was  journeying  to  the  city,  so  that  we  were  obliged  to 
separate. 

In  consequence  of  this  man's  description  of  Wallace's 
deportment,  and  the  proofs  of  a  dissolute  and  thoughtless 
temper  which  he  had  given,  I  began  to  regard  his  death 
as  an  event  less  deplorable.  Such  a  one  was  unworthy 


54  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

of  a  being  so  devoutly  pure,  so  ardent  in  fidelity  and 
tenderness,  as  Susan  Had  win.  If  he  loved,  it  was  pro 
bable  that,  in  defiance  of  his  vows,  he  would  seek  a  dif 
ferent  companion.  If  he  adhered  to  his  first  engage 
ments,  his  motives  would  be  sordid,  and  the  disclosure 
of  his  latent  defects  might  produce  more  exquisite  misery 
to  his  wife  than  his  premature  death  or  treacherous  de 
sertion. 

The  preservation  of  this  man  was  my  sole  motive  for 
entering  the  infected  city,  and  subjecting  my  own  life  to 
the  hazards  from  which  my  escape  may  almost  be  es 
teemed  miraculous.  Was  not  the  end  disproportioned  to 
the  means  ?  Was  there  arrogance  in  believing  my  life  a 
price  too  great  to  be  given  for  his  ? 

I  was  not,  indeed,  sorry  for  the  past.  My  purpose 
was  just,  and  the  means  which  I  selected  were  the  best 
my  limited  knowledge  supplied.  My  happiness  should 
be  drawn  from  reflecting  on  the  equity  of  my  intentions. 
That  these  intentions  were  frustrated  by  the  ignorance 
of  others,  or  my  own,  was  the  consequence  of  human 
frailty.  Honest  purposes,  though  they  may  not  bestow 
happiness  on  others,  will,  at  least,  secure  it  to  him  who 
fosters  them. 

By  these  reflections  my  regrets  were  dissipated,  and  I 
prepared  to  rejoice  alike,  whether  Wallace  should  be 
found  to  have  escaped  or  to  have  perished.  The  house 
to  which  I  had  been  directed  was  speedily  brought  into 
view.  I  inquired  for  the  master  or  mistress  of  the  man 
sion,  and  was  conducted  to  a  lady  of  a  plain  and  house 
wifely  appearance. 

My  curiosity  was  fully  gratified.  Wallace,  whom  my 
description  easily  identified,  had  made  his  appearance  at 
her  door  on  the  evening  of  the  day  on  which  he  left  the 
city.  The  dread  of  the  fever  was  descanted  on  with 
copious  and  rude  eloquence.  I  supposed  her  eloquence 
on  this  theme  to  be  designed  to  apologize  to  me  for  her 
refusing  entrance  to  the  sick  man.  The  peroration,  how 
ever,  was  different.  Wallace  was  admitted,  and  suitable 
attention  paid  to  his  wants. 

Happily,  the  guest  had  nothing  to  struggle  with  but 
extreme  weakness.  Repose,  nourishing  diet,  and  salu- 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  /79J.  55 

brious  airs  restored  him  in  a  short  time  to  health.  He 
lingered  under  this  roof  for  three  weeks,  and  then,  with 
out  any  professions  of  gratitude,  or  offers  of  pecuniary 
remuneration,  or  information  of  the  course  which  he  de 
termined  to  take,  he  left  them. 

These  facts,  added  to  that  which  I  had  previously 
known,  threw  no  advantageous  light  upon  the  character 
of  Wallace.  It  was  ohvious  to  conclude  that  he  had 
gone  to  Malverton,  and  thither  there  was  nothing  to 
hinder  me  from  following  him. 

Perhaps  one  of  my  grossest  defects  is  a  precipitate 
temper.  I  choose  my  path  suddenly,  and  pursue  it  with 
impetuous  expedition.  In  the  present  instance,  my  reso 
lution  was  conceived  with  unhesitating  zeal,  and  I  walked 
the  faster  that  I  might  the  sooner  execute  it.  Miss  Had- 
win  deserved  to  be  happy.  Love  was  in  her  heart  the 
all-absorbing  sentiment.  A  disappointment  there  was  a 
supreme  calamity.  Depravity  and  folly  must  assume  the 
guise  of  virtue  before  it  can  claim  her  affection.  This 
disguise  might  be  maintained  for  a  time,  but  its  detection 
must  inevitably  come,  and  the  sooner  this  detection  takes 
place  the  more  beneficial  it  must  prove. 

I  resolved  to  unbosom  myself,  with  equal  and  un 
bounded  confidence,  to  Wallace  and  his  mistress.  I 
would  choose  for  this  end,  not  the  moment  when  they 
were  separate,  but  that  in  which  they  were  together. 
My  knowledge,  and  the  sources  of  my  knowledge,  rela 
tive  to  Wallace,  should  be  unfolded  to  the  lady  with  sim 
plicity  and  truth.  The  lover  should  be  present,  to  con 
fute,  to  extenuate,  or  to  verify  the  charges. 

During  the  rest  of  the  day  these  images  occupied  the 
chief  place  in  my  thoughts.  The  road  was  miry  and 
dark,  and  my  journey  proved  to  be  more  tedious  and 
fatiguing  than  I  expected.  At  length,  just  as  the  even 
ing  closed,  the  well-known  habitation  appeared  in  view. 
Since  my  departure,  winter  had  visited  the  world,  and 
the  aspect  of  nature  was  desolate  and  dreary.  All  around 
this  house  was  vacant,  negligent,  forlorn.  The  contrast 
between  these  appearances  and  those  which  I  had  noticed 
on  my  first  approach  to  it,  when  the  ground  and  the 


56  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

trees  were  decked  with  the  luxuriance  and  vivacity  of 
summer,  was  mournful,  and  seemed  to  foretoken  ill. 
My  spirits  drooped  as  I  noticed  the  general  inactivity 
and  silence. 

I  entered,  without  warning,  the  door  that  led  into  the 
parlour.  No  face  was  to  be  seen  or  voice  heard.  The 
chimney  was  ornamented,  as  in  summer,  with  evergreen 
shrubs.  Though  it  was  now  the  second  month  of  frost 
and  snow,  fire  did  not  appear  to  have  been  lately  kindled 
on  this  hearth. 

This  was  a  circumstance  from  which  nothing  good 
could  be  deduced.  Had  there  been  those  to  share  its 
comforts  who  had  shared  them  on  former  years,  this  was 
the  place  and  hour  at  which  they  commonly  assembled. 
A  door  on  one  side  led,  through  a  narrow  entry,  into  the 
kitchen.  I  opened  this  door,  and  passed  towards  the 
kitchen. 

No  one  was  there  but  an  old  man,  squatted  in  the 
chimney-corner.  His  face,  though  wrinkled,  denoted 
undecayed  health  and  an  unbending  spirit.  A  homespun 
coat,  leathern  breeches  wrinkled  with  age,  and  blue  yarn 
hose,  were  well  suited  to  his  lean  and  shrivelled  form. 
On  his  right  knee  was  a  wooden  bowl,  which  he  had  just 
replenished  from  a  pipkin  of  hasty  pudding  still  smoking 
on  the  coals;  and  in  his  left  hand  a  spoon,  which  he  had, 
at  that  moment,  plunged  into  a  bottle  of  molasses  that 
Btood  beside  him. 

This  action  was  suspended  by  my  entrance.  He 
looked  up  and  exclaimed,  "Heyday!  who's  this  that 
comes  into  other  people's  houses  without  so  much  as  say 
ing  '  by  your  leave'  ?  What's  thee  business  ?  Who's 
thee  want?" 

I  had  never  seen  this  personage  before.  I  supposed 
it  to  be  some  new  domestic,  and  inquired  for  Mr.  Hadwin. 

"Ah!"  replied  he,  with  a  sigh,  "William  Hadwin.  Is 
it  him  thee  wants?  Poor  man!  He  is  gone  to  rest 
many  days  since." 

My  heart  sunk  within  me  at  these  tidings.  "Dead! 
said  I;  "do  you  mean  that  he  is  dead?" — This  excla 
mation  was  uttered  in  a  tone  of  some  vehemence.  It 
attracted  the  attention  of  some  one  who  was  standing 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR   1773-  57 

without,  who  immediately  entered  the  kitchen.  It  was 
Eliza  Iladwin.  The  moment  she  beheld  me  she  .shrieked 
aloud,  and,  rushing  into  my  arms,  fainted  away. 

The  old  man  dropped  his  bowl;  and,  starting  from 
his  seat,  stared  alternately  at  me  and  at  the  breathless 
girl.  My  emotion,  made  up  of  joy,  and  sorrow,  and 
surprise,  rendered  me  for  a  moment  powerless  as  she. 
At  length  he  said,  "I  understand  this.  I  know  who 
thee  is,  and  will  tell  her  thee's  come."  So  saying,  he 
hastily  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

IN  a  short  time  this  gentle  girl  recovered  her  senses. 
She  did  not  withdraw  herself  from  my  sustaining  arm, 
but,  leaning  on  my  bosom,  she  resigned  herself  to  pas 
sionate  weeping.  I  did  not  endeavour  to  check  this 
effusion,  believing  that  its  influence  would  be  salutary. 

I  had  not  forgotten  the  thrilling  sensibility  and  artless 
graces  of  this  girl.  I  had  not  forgotten  the  scruples 
which  had  formerly  made  me  check  a  passion  whose 
tendency  was  easily  discovered.  These  new  proofs  of 
her  affection  were,  at  once,  mournful  and  delightful. 
The  untimely  fate  of  her  father  and  my  friend  pressed 
with  new  force  upon  my  heart,  and  my  tears,  in  spite  of 
my  fortitude,  mingled  with  hers. 

The  attention  of  both  was  presently  attracted  by  a 
faint  scream,  which  proceeded  from  above.  Immediately 
tottering  footsteps  were  heard  in  the  passage,  and  a 
figure  rushed  into  the  room,  pale,  emaciated,  haggard, 
and  wild.  She  cast  a  piercing  glance  at  me,  uttered  a 
feeble  exclamation,  and  sunk  upon  the  floor  without  signs 
of  life. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  comprehend  this  scene.  I  now 
conjectured,  what  subsequent  inquiry  confirmed,  that  the 
old  man  had  mistaken  me  for  Wallace,  and  had  carried 
to  the  elder  sister  the  news  of  his  return.  This  fatal 
disappointment  of  hopes  that  had  nearly  been  extinct, 
and  which  were  now  so  powerfully  revived,  could  not  be 
endured  by  a  frame  verging  to  dissolution. 

This  object  recalled  all  the  energies  of  Eliza,  and  en 
grossed  all  my  solicitude.  I  lifted  the  fallen  girl  in  my 
arms ;  and,  guided  by  her  sister,  carried  her  to  her 
chamber.  I  had  now  leisure  to  contemplate  the  changes 
which  a  few  months  had  made  in  this  lovely  frame.  I 
58 


MEMOIRS   OF   THE    YEAR  1793.  59 

turned  away  from  the  spectacle  with  anguish,  but  my 
wandering  eyes  were  recalled  by  some  potent  fascination, 
and  fixed  in  horror  upon  a  form  which  evinced  the  last 
stage  of  decay.  Eliza  knelt  on  one  side,  and,  leaning 
her  face  upon  the  bed,  endeavoured  in  vain  to  smother 
her  sobs.  I  sat  on  the  other  motionless,  and  holding  the 
passive  and  withered  hand  of  the  sufferer. 

I  watched  with  ineffable  solicitude  the  return  of  life. 
It  returned  at  length,  but  merely  to  betray  symptoms 
that  it  would  speedily  depart  forever.  For  a  time  my 
faculties  were  palsied,  and  I  was  made  an  impotent 
spectator  of  the  ruin  that  environed  me.  This  pusilla 
nimity  quickly  gave  way  to  resolutions  and  reflections 
better  suited  to  the  exigencies  of  the  time. 

The  first  impulse  was  to  summon  a  physician ;  but  it 
was  evident  that  the  patient  had  been  sinking  by  slow 
degrees  to  this  state,  and  that  the  last  struggle  had 
begun.  Nothing  remained  but  to  watch  her  while  ex 
piring,  and  perform  for  her,  when  dead,  the  rites  of  in 
terment.  The  survivor  was  capable  of  consolation  and 
of  succour.  I  went  to  her  and  drew  her  gently  into 
another  apartment.  The  old  man,  tremulous  and  wonder- 
struck,  seemed  anxious  to  perform  some  service.  I 
directed  him  to  kindle  a  fire  in  Eliza's  chamber.  Mean 
while  I  persuaded  my  gentle  friend  to  remain  in  this 
chamber,  and  resign  to  me  the  performance  of  every 
office  which  her  sister's  condition  required.  I  sat  beside 
the  bed  of  the  dying  till  the  mortal  struggle  was  past. 

I  perceived  that  the  house  had  no  inhabitant  besides 
the  two  females  and  the  old  man.  I  went  in  search  of 
the  latter,  and  found  him  crouched,  as  before,  at  the 
kitchen-fire,  smoking  his  pipe.  I  placed  myself  on  the 
same  bench,  and  entered  into  conversation  with  him. 

I  gathered  from  him  that  he  had,  for  many  years, 
been  Mr.  Iladwin's  servant.  That  lately  he  had  culti 
vated  a  small  farm  in  this  neighbourhood  for  his  own 
advantage.  Stopping  one  day  in  October,  at  the  tavern, 
he  heard  that  his  old  master  had  lately  been  in  the  city, 
had  caught  the  fever,  and  after  his  return  had  died  with 
it.  The  moment  he  became  sick,  his  servants  fled  from 
the  house,  and  the  neighbours  refused  to  approach  it. 


60  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

The  task  of  attending  his  sick-bed  was  allotted  to  hia 
daughters,  and  it  was  by  their  hands  that  his  grave  was 
dug  and  his  body  covered  with  earth.  The  same  terror 
of  infection  existed  after  his  death  as  before,  and  these 
hapless  females  were  deserted  by  all  mankind. 

Old  Caleb  was  no  sooner  informed  of  these  particular, 
than  he  hurried  to  the  house,  and  had  since  continued  in 
their  service.  His  heart  was  kind,  but  it  was  easily  seen 
that  his  skill  extended  only  to  execute  the  directions  of 
another.  Grief  for  the  death  of  Wallace  and  her  father 
preyed  upon  the  health  of  the  eldest  daughter.  The 
younger  became  her  nurse,  and  Caleb  was  always  at 
hand  to  execute  any  orders  the  performance  of  which 
was  on  a  level  with  his  understanding.  Their  neighbours 
had  not  withheld  their  good  offices,  but  they  were  still 
terrified  and  estranged  by  the  phantoms  of  pestilence. 

During  the  last  week  Susan  had  been  too  weak  to  rise 
from  her  bed ;  yet  such  was  the  energy  communicated  by 
the  tidings  that  Wallace  was  alive,  and  had  returned, 
that  she  leaped  upon  her  feet  and  rushed  down-stairs. 
How  little  did  that  man  deserve  so  strenuous  and  im 
mortal  an  affection ! 

I  would  not  allow  myself  to  ponder  on  the  sufferings 
of  these  women.  I  endeavoured  to  think  only  of  the 
best  expedients  for  putting  an  .end  to  these  calamities. 
After  a  moment's  deliberation  I  determined  to  go  to  a 
house  at  some  miles'  distance ;  the  dwelling  of  one  who, 
though  not  exempt  from  the  reigning  panic,  had  shown 
more  generosity  towards  these  unhappy  girls  than  others. 
During  my  former  abode  in  this  district,  I  had  ascertained 
his  character,  and  found  him  to  be  compassionate  and 
liberal. 

Overpowered  by  fatigue  and  watching,  Eliza  was  no 
sooner  relieved,  by  my  presence,  of  some  portion  of  her 
cares,  than  she  sunk  into  profound  slumber.  I  directed 
Caleb  to  watch  the  house  till  my  return,  which  should 
be  before  midnight,  and  then  set  out  for  the  dwelling  of 
Mr.  Ellis. 

The  weather  was  temperate  and  moist,  and  rendered 
the  footing  of  the  meadows  extremely  difficult.  The 
ground,  that  had  lately  been  frozen  and  covered  with 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  6l 

snow,  was  now  changed  into  gullies  and  pools,  and  this 
was  no  time  to  be  fastidious  in  the  choice  of  paths.  A 
brook,  swelled  by  the  recent  thaw,  was  likewise  to  be 
passed.  The  rail  which  I  had  formerly  placed  over  it 
by  way  of  bridge  had  disappeared,  and  I  was  obliged  to 
wade  through  it.  At  length  I  approached  the  house  to 
which  I  was  going. 

At  so  late  an  hour,  farmers  and  farmers'  servants  are 
usually  abed,  and  their  threshold  is  intrusted  to  their 
watch-dogs.  Two  belonged  to  Mr.  Ellis,  whose  ferocity 
and  vigilance  were  truly  formidable  to  a  stranger  ;  but  I 
hoped  that  in  me  they  would  recognise  an  old  acquaint 
ance,  and  suffer  me  to  approach.  In  this  I  was  not  mis 
taken.  Though  my  person  could  not  be  distinctly  seen 
by  starlight,  they  seemed  to  scent  me  from  afar,  and  met 
me  with  a  thousand  caresses. 

Approaching  the  house,  I  perceived  that  its  tenants 
were  retired  to  their  repose.  This  I  expected,  and  has 
tened  to  awaken  Mr.  Ellis,  by  knocking  briskly  at  the 
door.  Presently  he  looked  out  of  a  window  above,  and, 
in  answer  to  his  inquiries,  in  which  impatience  at  being 
so  unseasonably  disturbed  was  mingled  with  anxiety,  I 
told  him  my  name,  and  entreated  him  to  come  down  and 
allow  me  a  few  minutes'  conversation.  He  speedily 
dressed  himself,  and,  opening  the  kitchen  door,  we 
seated  ourselves  before  the  fire. 

My  appearance  was  sufficiently  adapted  to  excite  his 
wonder ;  he  had  heard  of  my  elopement  from  the  house 
of  Mr.  Hadwin,  he  was  a  stranger  to  the  motives  that 
prompted  my  departure,  and  to  the  events  that  had  be 
fallen  me,  and  no  interview  was  more  distant  from  his 
expectations  than  the  present.  His  curiosity  was  writ 
ten  in  his  features,  but  this  was  no  time  to  gratify  his 
curiosity.  The  end  that  I  now  had  in  view  was  to  pro 
cure  accommodation  for  Eliza  Hadwin  in  this  man's 
house.  For  this  purpose  it  was  my  duty  to  describe, 
with  simplicity  and  truth,  the  inconveniences  which  at 
present  surrounded  her,  and  to  relate  all  that  had  hap 
pened  since  my  arrival. 

I  perceived  that  my  tale  excited  his  compassion,  and 
I  continued  with  new  zeal  to  paint  to  him  the  helpless- 


62  ARTHUR   MERVYN;    OR, 

ness  of  tliis  girl.  The  death  of  her  father  and  sister  left 
her  the  property  of  this  farm.  Her  sex  and  age  dis 
qualified  her  for  superintending  the  harvest-field  and  the 
threshing-floor ;  and  no  expedient  was  left  but  to  lease 
the  land  to  another,  and,  taking  up  her  abode  in  the 
family  of  some  kinsman  or  friend,  to  subsist,  as  she 
might  easily  do,  upon  the  rent.  Meanwhile  her  con 
tinuance  in  this  house  was  equally  useless  and  dan 
gerous,  and  I  insinuated  to  my  companion  the  propriety 
of  immediately  removing  her  to  his  own. 

Some  hesitation  and  reluctance  appeared  in  him,  which 
I  immediately  ascribed  to  an  absurd  dread  of  infection. 
I  endeavoured,  by  appealing  to  his  reason  as  well  as  to 
his  pity,  to  conquer  this  dread.  I  pointed  out  the  true 
cause  of  the  death  of  the  elder  daughter,  and  assured 
him  the  youngest  knew  no  indisposition  but  that  which 
arose  from  distress.  I  offered  to  save  him  from  any 
hazard  that  might  attend  his  approaching  the  house,  by 
accompanying  her  hither  myself.  All  that  her  safety 
required  was  that  his  doora  should  not  be  shut  against 
her  when  she  presented  herself  before  them. 

Still  he  was  fearful  and  reluctant ;  and,  at  length, 
mentioned  that  her  uncle  resided  not  more  than  sixteen 
miles  farther ;  that  he  was  her  natural  protector,  and, 
he  dared  to  say,  would  find  no  difficulty  in  admitting  her 
into  his  house.  For  his  part,  there  might  be  reason  in 
what  I  said,  but  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  think  but 
that  there  was  still  some  danger  of  the  fever.  It  was 
right  to  assist  people  in  distress,  to-be-sure  ;  but  to  risk 
his  own  life  he  did  not  think  to  be  his  duty.  He  was  no 
relation  of  the  family,  and  it  was  the  duty  of  relations 
to  help  each  other.  Her  uncle  was  the  proper  per 
son  to  assist  her,  and  no  doubt  he  would  be  as  willing 
as  able. 

The  marks  of  dubiousness  and  indecision  which  ac 
companied  these  words  encouraged  me  in  endeavouring 
to  subdue  his  scruples.  The  increase  of  his  aversion  to 
my  scheme  kept  pace  with  my  remonstrances,  and  he  final 
ly  declared  that  he  would,  on  no  account,  consent  to  it. 

Ellis  was  by  no  means  hard  of  heart.  His  determina 
tion  did  not  prove  the  coldness  of  his  charity,  but  merely 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR   1793-  63 

the  strength  of  his  fears.  lie  was  himself  an  object 
more  of  compassion  than  of  anger ;  and  he  acted  like 
the  man  whose  fear  of  death  prompts  him  to  push  his 
companion  from  the  plank  which  saved  him  from  drown 
ing,  but  which  is  unable  to  sustain  both.  Finding  him 
invincible  to  my  entreaties,  I  thought  upon  the  expe 
dient  which  he  suggested  of  seeking  the  protection  of 
her  uncle.  It  was  true  that  the  loss  of  parents  had  ren 
dered  her  uncle  her  legal  protector.  His  knowledge  of 
the  world ;  his  house  and  property  and  influence,  would, 
perhaps,  fit  him  for  this  office  in  a  more  eminent  degree 
than  I  was  fitted.  To  seek  a  different  asylum  might, 
indeed,  be  unjust  to  both;  and,  after  some  reflection,  I 
not  only  dismissed  the  regret  which  Ellis's  refusal  had 
given  me,  but  even  thanked  him  for  the  intelligence  and 
counsel  which  he  had  afforded  me.  I  took  leave  of  him, 
and  hastened  back  to  Hadwin's. 

Eliza,  by  Caleb's  report,  was  still  asleep.  There  was 
no  urgent  necessity  for  awakening  her ;  but  something 
was  forthwith  to  be  done  with  regard  to  the  unhappy 
girl  that  was  dead.  The  proceeding  incumbent  on  us 
was  obvious.  All  that  remained  was  to  dig  a  grave,  and 
to  deposit  the  remains  with  as  much  solemnity  and  de 
cency  as  the  time  would  permit.  There  were  two 
methods  of  doing  this.  I  might  wait  till  the  next  day; 
till  a  coflfin  could  be  made  and  conveyed  hither ;  till  the 
woman,  whose  trade  it  was  to  make  and  put  on  the  habi 
liments  assigned  by  custom  to  the  dead,  could  be  sought 
out  and  hired  to  attend ;  till  kindred,  friends,  and  neigh 
bours  could  be  summoned  to  the  obsequies ;  till  a  car 
riage  were  provided  to  remove  the  body  to  a  burying- 
ground,  belonging  to  a  meeting-house,  and  five  miles 
distant ;  till  those  whose  trade  it  was  to  dig  graves  had 
prepared  one,  within  the  sacred  enclosure,  for  her  recep 
tion  ;  or,  neglecting  this  toilsome,  tedious,  and  expensive 
ceremonial,  I  might  seek  the  grave  of  Hadwin,  and  lay 
the  daughter  by  the  side  of  her  parent. 

Perhaps  I  Avas  strong  in  my  preference  of  the  latter 
mode.  The  customs  of  burial  may,  in  most  cases,  be«in 
themselves  proper.  If  the  customs  be  absurd,  yet  it  may 
be  generally  proper  to  adhere  to  them ;  but  doubtless 


64  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

there  are  cases  in  which  it  is  our  duty  to  omit  them.  1 
conceived  the  present  case  to  be  such  a  one. 

The  season  was  bleak  and  inclement.  Much  time, 
labour,  and  expense  would  be  required  to  go  through 
the  customary  rites.  There  was  none  but  myself  to  per 
form  these,  and  I  had  not  the  suitable  means.  The 
misery  of  Eliza  would  only  be  prolonged  by  adhering 
to  these  forms,  and  her  fortune  be  needlessly  diminished 
by  the  expenses  unavoidably  to  be  incurred. 

After  musing  upon  these  ideas  for  some  time,  I  rose 
from  my  seat,  and  desired  Caleb  to  follow  me.  We  pro 
ceeded  to  an  outer  shed  where  farmers'  tools  used  to  be 
kept.  I  supplied  him  and  myself  with  a  spade,  and  re 
quested  him  to  lead  me  to  the  spot  where  Mr.  Hadwin 
was  laid. 

He  betrayed  some  hesitation  to  comply,  and  appeared 
struck  with  some  degree  of  alarm,  as  if  my  purpose  had 
been  to  molest,  instead  of  securing,  the  repose  of  the 
dead.  I  removed  his  doubts  by  explaining  my  inten 
tions  ;  but  he  was  scarcely  less  shocked,  on  discovering 
the  truth,  than  he  had  been  alarmed  by  his  first  suspi 
cions.  He  stammered  out  his  objections  to  my  scheme. 
There  was  but  one  mode  of  burial,  he  thought,  that  was 
decent  and  proper,  and  he  could  not  be  free  to  assist  me 
in  pursuing  any  other  mode. 

Perhaps  Caleb's  aversion  to  the  scheme  might  have 
been  easily  overcome ;  but  I  reflected  that  a  mind  like 
his  was  at  once  flexible  and  obstinate.  He  might  yield 
to  arguments  and  entreaties,  and  act  by  their  immediate 
impulse ;  but  the  impulse  passed  away  in  a  moment,  old 
and  habitual  convictions  were  resumed,  and  his  devia 
tion  from  the  beaten  track  would  be  merely  productive 
of  compunction.  His  aid,  on  the  present  occasion, 
though  of  some  use,  was  by  no  means  indispensable.  I 
forbore  to  solicit  his  concurrence,  or  even  to  vanquish 
the  scruples  he  entertained  against  directing  me  to  the 
grave  of  Hadwin.  It  was  a  groundless  superstition  that 
made  one  spot  more  suitable  for  this  purpose  than  an 
other.  I  desired  Caleb,  in  a  mild  tone,  to  return  to  the 
kitchen,  and  leave  me  to  act  as  I  thought  proper.  I 
then  proceeded  to  the  orchard. 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  65 

One  corner  of  this  field  was  somewhat  above  the  level 
of  the  rest.  The  tallest  tree  of  the  group  grew  there, 
and  there  I  had  formerly  placed  a  bench,  arid  made  it 
my  retreat  at  periods  of  leisure.  It  had  been  recom 
mended  by  its  sequestered  situation,  its  luxuriant  ver 
dure,  and  profound  quiet.  On  one  side  was  a  potato- 
field,  on  the  other  a  melon-patch;  and  before  me,  in 
rows,  some  hundreds  of  apple-trees.  Here  I  was  accus 
tomed  to  seek  the  benefits  of  contemplation  and  study 
the  manuscripts  of  Lodi.  A  few  months  had  passed 
since  I  had  last  visited  this  spot.  What  revolutions  had 
since  occurred,  and  how  gloomily  contrasted  was  my 
present  purpose  with  what  had  formerly  led  me  hither  I 

In  this  spot  I  had  hastily  determined  to  dig  the  grave 
of  Susan.  The  grave  was  dug.  All  that  I  desired  was 
a  cavity  of  sufficient  dimensions  to  receive  her.  This 
being  made,  I  returned  to  the  house,  lifted  the  corpse 
in  my  arms,  and  bore  it  without  delay  to  the  spot. 
Caleb,  seated  in  the  kitchen,  and  Eliza,  asleep  in  her 
chamber,  were  wholly  unapprized  of  my  motions.  The 
grave  was  covered,  the  spade  reposited  under  the  shed, 
and  my  seat  by  the  kitchen-fire  resumed  in  a  time  appa 
rently  too  short  for  so  solemn  and  momentous  a  trans 
action. 

I  look  back  upon  this  incident  with  emotions  not 
easily  described.  It  seems  as  if  I  acted  with  too  much 
precipitation;  as  if  insensibility,  and  not  reason,  had 
occasioned  that  clearness  of  conceptions,  and  bestowed 
that  firmness  of  muscles,  which  I  then  experienced.  I 
neither  trembled  nor  wavered  in  ray  purpose.  I  bore 
in  my  arms  the  being  whom  I  had  known  and  loved, 
through  the  whistling  gale  and  intense  darkness  of  a 
winter's  night ;  I  heaped  earth  upon  her  limbs,  and 
covered  them  from  human  observation,  without  fluctua 
tions  or  tremors,  though  not  without  feelings  that  were 
awful  and  sublime. 

Perhaps  some  part  of  my  steadfastness  was  owing  to 
iny  late  experience,  and  some  minds  may  be  more  easily 
inured  to  perilous  emergencies  than  others.  If  reason 
acquires  strength  only  by  the  diminution  of  sensibility, 
perkaps  it  is  just  for  sensibility  to  be  diminished. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  safety  of  Eliza  was  the  object  that  now  occupied 
my  cares.  To  have  slept,  after  her  example,  had  been 
most  proper;  but  my  uncertainty  with  regard  to  her 
fate,  and  my  desire  to  conduct  her  to  some  other  home, 
kept  my  thoughts  in  perpetual  motion.  I  waited  with 
impatience  till  she  should  awake  and  allow  me  to  consult 
with  her  on  plans  for  futurity. 

Her  sleep  terminated  not  till  the  next  day  had  arisen. 
Having  recovered  the  remembrance  of  what  had  lately 
happened,  she  inquired  for  her  sister.  She  wanted  to 
view  once  more  the  face  and  kiss  the  lips  of  her  beloved 
Susan.  Some  relief  to  her  anguish  she  expected  to 
derive  from  this  privilege. 

When  informed  of  the  truth,  when  convinced  that  Susan 
had  disappeared  forever,  she  broke  forth  into  fresh  pas 
sion.  It  seemed  as  if  her  loss  was  not  hopeless  or  com 
plete  as  long  as  she  was  suffered  to  behold  the  face  of 
her  friend  and  to  touch  her  lips.  She  accused  me  of 
acting  without  warrant  and  without  justice  ;  of  defraud 
ing  her  of  her  dearest  and  only  consolation;  and  of 
treating  her  sister's  sacred  remains  with  barbarous  indif 
ference  and  rudeness. 

I  explained  in  the  gentlest  terms  the  reasons  of  my 
conduct.  I  was  not  surprised  or  vexed  that  she,  at  first, 
treated  them  as  futile,  and  as  heightening  my  offence. 
Such  was  the  impulse  of  a  grief  which  was  properly 
excited  by  her  loss.  To  be  tranquil  and  steadfast,  in 
the  midst  of  the  usual  causes  of  impetuosity  and  agony, 
is  either  the  prerogative  of  wisdom  that  sublimes  itself 
above  all  selfish  considerations,  or  the  badge  of  giddy 
and  unfeeling  folly. 
66 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  /79J-  67 

The  torrent  was  at  length  exhausted.  Upbraiding 
was  at  an  end ;  and  gratitude,  and  tenderness,  and  im 
plicit  acquiescence  in  any  scheme  which  my  prudence 
should  suggest,  succeeded.  I  mentioned  her  uncle  as 
one  to  whom  it  would  be  proper,  in  her  present  distress, 
to  apply. 

She  started  and  betrayed  uneasiness  at  this  name.  It 
was  evident  that  she  by  no  means  concurred  with  me  in 
my  notions  of  propriety ;  that  she  thought  with  aversion 
of  seeking  her  uncle's  protection.  I  requested  her  to 
state  her  objections  to  this  scheme,  or  to  mention  any 
other  which  she  thought  preferable. 

She  knew  nobody.  She  had  not  a  friend  in  the  world 
but  myself.  She  had  never  been  out  of  her  father's 
house.  She  had  no  relation  but  her  uncle  Philip,  and 
he — she  could  not  live  with  him.  I  must  not  insist  upon 
her  going  to  his  house.  It  was  not  the  place  for  her. 
She  should  never  be  happy  there. 

I  was,  at  first,  inclined  to  suspect  in  my  friend  some 
capricious  and  groundless  antipathy.  I  desired  her  to 
explain  what  in  her  uncle's  character  made  him  so  ob 
noxious.  She  refused  to  be  more  explicit,  and  persisted 
in  thinking  that  his  house  was  no  suitable  abode  for  her. 

Finding  her,  in  this  respect,  invincible,  I  sought  for 
some  other  expedient.  Might  she  not  easily  be  accom 
modated  as  a  boarder  in  the  city,  or  some  village,  or  in 
a  remote  quarter  of  the  country?  Ellis,  her  nearest 
and  most  opulent  neighbour,  had  refused  to  receive  her ; 
but  there  were  others  who  had  not  his  fears.  There 
were  others,  within  the  compass  of  a  day's  journey,  who 
were  strangers  to  the  cause  of  Hadwin's  death ;  but 
would  it  not  be  culpable  to  take  advantage  of  that  igno 
rance  ?  Their  compliance  ought  not  to  be  the  result  of 
deception. 

While  thus  engaged,  the  incidents  of  my  late  journey 
recurred  to  my  remembrance,  and  I  asked,  "Is  not  the 
honest  woman,  who  entertained  Wallace,  just  such  a  per 
son  as  that  of  whom  I  am  in  search  ?  Her  treatment 
of  Wallace  shows  her  to  be  exempt  from  chimerical 
fears,  proves  that  she  has  room  in  her  house  for  an  occa 
sional  inmate." 


6S  A&THL'g  JlEXrry;    Of, 


Eacoaraged  by  these  views,  I  told  mj  weeping  com- 
panioa  that  I  bad  recollected  a  family  in  which  she 
woaid  be  kindly  treated:  and  that,  if  she  chc^e,  we 
woald  Mil  lose  a  moment  IB  repairing  thither.  Horses. 
belonging  to  the  farm,  grand  in  Ike  meadows,  and  a 
eoaple  of  these  would  carry  us  in  a  few  hoars  to  the 
place  which  I  had  selected  for  her  residence.  On  her 
eagerly  mmtmnmg  to  this  proposal,  I  inquired  in  whose 
care,  and  m  what  state,  oar  present  ^fr'^fr'm  should 
:,  :- 

The  father's  jBUfMBtj  mam  belonged  to  the  daaghter. 
BEsa's  mind  was  quick,  active,  and  sagacious;  bat  her 
total  •ripnifaff  garo  her  nmniftiintH  the  appearance  of 
folly.  She  was  eager  to  fir  &om  this  boose,  and  to 
hersetf  aad  her  property,  without  limitation  or 
to  my  controL  Our  intercourse  had  been 
hat  she  relied  on  BIT  protection  and  counsel  as 
ahaoiatelT  as  she  had  been  accaatomcd  to  do  upon  her 
Others." 

fihe  knew  not  what  answer  to  make  to  my  inquiry. 
Whatever  I  akaacd  to  do  vat  the  best.  What  did"  I 
:_/  •_  ..-  -  - 

~Ah!"  thoafehf  I,  **sweet.  artless,  and  simple  girl  ! 
how  woakkt  thorn  have  fared,  if  Hearen  had  not  sent 
me  to  thy  saccoar?  There  are  beings  in  the  world  who 
wowid  Bttke  a  sei&ak  ase  of  thy  confidence  ;  who  would 
thee  at  once  of  Jaaofracr  an  i  prc»perty.  Such 
not  L  Thj  welfare  m  a  precious  deposit,  and  no 
fethrr  or  brother  coald  watch  orer  it  with  more  solici- 

::  .   -..._  :  -..;  : 

I  was  aware  that  Mr.  Hadwin  might  hare  fixed  the 
deaoaatka  of  his  pmyqij,  and  the  guardianshi  p  of  his 
daagaters,  by  wffl.  Oft  saggesting  this  to  my  friend,  it 
Bstantry  reminded  her  of  an  incident  that  took  place 
after  h»  last  return  from  the  city.  He  ha-i  drawn  up 
mm  wilL  and  gare  it  into  Susan's  possession,  who  placed 
is  in  a  drawer,  whence  h  was  BOW  taken  by  my  friend. 

By  tikis  wifi  mm  fauyciij  was  BOW  found  to  be  be- 
qaeathed  to  his  two  dsaghlrm;  and  mm  brother,  Philip 
Hadwin.  was  named  tAU.nl  IB,  and  guardian  to  mm 
daaghters  till  they  should  be  twenty  years  old.  Tola 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  rfgg.  '  , 


name  was  no  turner  heard  by  •  v  fiirad,  thaa  ike  ex- 
daimed,  in  a  ton*  of  afrigiit,  "Eiccntor!  My  vnde! 
What  t«  that?  What  power  does  that  gire  hiat"r* 

"  I  know  not  exactly  the  power  of  11  !<.•!••  He 
will,  doabdeas,  hare  possession  of  yo«r  property  till  yom 
are  twenty  year?  of  age.  TOOT  person  will  likewise  be 
under  hi=  care  tiD  that  time.** 

•:  .-:  -   :  .--.-:• 

*•  He  is  rested  with  aJl  the  power  of  a  father." 
This  ass«raa)ee  excited  the  deepest  eoBoterBatioB.    She 
fixed  her  eyes  on  the  gioaad,  and  was  lost,  for  a  tiaw, 
in  the  deepest  reverie.     Recovering,  at  length,  she  said, 

with  a  sigh.  -  What  if  my  father  had  made  no  wfll  *" 

••In  that  case,  a  guardian  covJd  mat  he  dispensed 
with,  bat  the  right  of  ""•"*£  hat  wovld  belong  to 

jowrself." 

••  And  my  uncle  would  have  ffirtfc**g  to  do  with  mj 
affairs?  * 

"I  am  no  lawyer,"  said  I:  "b^it  I  presmae  aH  a«- 
thority  over  your  petaoa  and  property  would  deTohre 
up>on  the  guar-Lan  of  TOUT  own  choice." 

-  Then  I  am  free."  Saying  this,  whh  a  s^dea  BK>- 
t'on.  she  t<c>re  in  several  piece*  the  wiH.  which,  during 
thi«  -iialosTie.  she  Lad  held  in  Ler  Lan-i.  and  threw  the 
fragments  into  the  fire. 

No  action  was  more  unexpected  to  »e  than  tha.  My 
meijt  h:ndere»i  me  fros  atteniT'Ciiz  to  rescue  the 


&s  at  a  loss  in  what  Banner  to  icgaid  this  saarifice. 
denoted  a  force  of  mind  little  in  VBJSOB  with  that 


displaye-d.     It  argued  the  deepest  app 
treatment  from  her  vncle.     Whether 
jostifie-i  this  violent  antipathy.  I  had 
ing.     Mr.  Hadvin^s  choice  of  him.  as 
certainly  one  proof  of  his  integrity. 
My  abstraction  was  notieed  by 
anxiety.     I;  was  plain  that  she  dread 
which  this  act  of  **imiimg  temerity  ha 
*•  Do  not  be  angry  with  me."  said  she; 


70  ARTHUR  MERVY.V;    OR, 

been  wrong,  but  I  could  not  help  it.  I  will  have  but  one 
guardian  and  one  protector." 

The  deed  was  irrevocable.  In  my  present  ignorance 
of  the  domestic  history  of  the  Hadwins,  I  was  unqualified 
to  judge  how  far  circumstances  might  extenuate  or  justify 
the  act.  On  both  accounts,  therefore,  it  was  improper  to 
expatiate  upon  it. 

It  was  concluded  to  leave  the  care  of  the  house  to 
honest  Caleb;  to  fasten  closets  and  drawers,  and,  carry 
ing  away  the  money  which  was  found  in  one  of  them, 
and  which  amounted  to  no  inconsiderable  sum,  to  repair 
to  the  house  formerly  mentioned.  The  air  was  cold ;  a 
heavy  snow  began  to  fall  in  the  night ;  the  wind  blew 
tempestuously;  and  we  were  compelled  to  confront  it. 

In  leaving  her  dwelling,  in  which  she  had  spent  her 
whole  life,  the  unhappy  girl  gave  way  afresh  to  her  sor 
row.  It  made  her  feeble  and  helpless.  When  placed 
upon  the  horse,  she  was  scarcely  able  to  maintain  her 
seat.  Already  chilled  by  the  cold,  blinded  by  the  drift 
ing  snow,  and  cut  by  the  blast,  all  my  remonstrances 
were  needed  to  inspire  her  with  resolution. 

I  am  not  accustomed  to  regard  the  elements,  or  suffer 
them  to  retard  or  divert  me  from  any  design  that  I  have 
formed.  I  had  overlooked  the  weak  and  delicate  frame 
of  my  companion,  and  made  no  account  of  her  being 
less  able  to  support  cold  and  fatigue  than  myself.  It 
was  not  till  we  had  made  some  progress  in  our  way,  that 
I  began  to  view,  in  their  true  light,  the  obstacles  that 
were  to  be  encountered.  I  conceived  it,  however,  too 
late  to  retreat,  and  endeavoured  to  push  on  with 
speed. 

My  companion  was  a  skilful  rider,  but  her  steed  was 
refractory  and  unmanageable.  She  was  able,  however, 
to  curb  his  spirit  till  we  had  proceeded  ten  or  twelve 
miles  from  Mulverton.  The  wind  and  the  cold  became 
too  violent  to  be  longer  endured,  and  I  resolved  to  stop 
at  the  first  house  which  should  present  itself  to  ray  view, 
for  the  sake  of  refreshment  and  warmth. 

We  now  entered  a  wood  of  some  extent,  at  the  termi 
nation  of  which  I  remembered  that  a  dwelling  stood.  To 
pass  this  wood,  therefore,  with  expedition,  was  all  that 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR   i?93-  7 1 

remained  before  we  could  reach  a  hospitable  asylum.  I 
endeavoured  to  sustain,  by  this  information,  the  sinking 
spirits  of  my  companion.  While  busy  in  conversing  with 
her,  a  blast  of  irresistible  force  twisted  off  the  highest 
branch  of  a  tree  before  us.  It  fell  in  the  midst  of  the 
road,  at  the  distance  of  a  few  feet  from  her  horse's  head. 
Terrified  by  this  accident,  the  horse  started  from  the 
path,  and,  rushing  into  the  wood,  in  a  moment  threw 
himself  and  his  rider  on  the  ground,  by  encountering  the 
rugged  stock  of  an  oak. 

i  dismounted  and  flew  to  her  succour.  The  snow  was 
already  dyed  with  the  blood  which  flowed  from  some 
wound  in  her  head,  and  she  lay  without  sense  or  motion. 
My  terrors  did  not  hinder  me  from  anxiously  searching 
for  the  hurt  which  was  received,  and  ascertaining  the 
extent  of  the  injury.  Her  forehead  was  considerably 
bruised ;  but,  to  my  unspeakable  joy,  the  blood  flowed 
from  the  nostrils,  and  was,  therefore,  to  be  regarded  as 
no  mortal  symptom. 

I  lifted  her  in  my  arms,  and  looked  around  me  for 
some  means  of  relief.  The  house  at  which  I  proposed  to 
stop  was  upwards  of  a  mile  distant.  I  remembered  none 
that  was  nearer.  To  place  the  wounded  girl  on  my  own 
horse,  and  proceed  gently  to  the  house  in  question,  was 
the  sole  expedient ;  but,  at  present,  she  was  senseless, 
and  might,  on  recovering,  be  too  feeble  to  sustain  her 
own  weight. 

To  recall  her  to  life  was  my  first  duty;  but  I  was 
powerless,  or  unacquainted  with  the  means.  I  gazed 
upon  her  features,  and  endeavoured,  by  pressing  her  in  my 
arms,  to  inspire  her  with  some  warmth.  I  looked  towards 
the  road,  and  listened  for  the  wished-for  sound  of  some 
carriage  that  might  be  prevailed  on  to  stop  and  receive 
her.  Nothing  was  more  improbable  than  that  either 
pleasure  or  business  would  induce  men  to  encounter  so 
chilling  and  vehement  a  blast.  To  be  lighted  on  by 
some  traveller  was,  therefore,  a  hopeless  event. 

Meanwhile,  Eliza's  swoon  continued,  and  my  alarm  in 
creased.  What  effect  her  half-frozen  blood  would  have 
in  prolonging  this  condition,  or  preventing  her  return  to 
life,  awakened  the  deepest  apprehensions.  I  left  the 


/2  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

wood,  still  bearing  her  in  my  arms,  and  re-entered  th€ 
road,  from  the  desire  of  descrying,  as  soon  as  possible, 
the  coming  passenger.  I  looked  this  way  and  that,  and 
again  listened.  Nothing  but  the  sweeping  blast,  rent 
and  fallen  branches,  and  snow  that  filled  and  obscured 
the  air,  were  perceivable.  Each  moment  retarded  the 
course  of  my  own  blood  and  stiffened  my  sinews,  and 
made  the  state  of  my  companion  more  desperate.  How 
was  I  to  act  ?  To  perish  myself,  or  see  her  perish,  was 
an  ignoble  fate ;  courage  and  activity  were  still  able  to 
avert  it.  My  horse  stood  near,  docile  and  obsequious ; 
to  mount  him  and  to  proceed  on  my  way,  holding  my 
lifeless  burden  in  my  arms,  was  all  that  remained. 

At  this  moment  my  attention  was  called  by  several 
voices  issuing  from  the  wood.  It  was  the  note  of  gayety 
and  glee.  Presently  a  sleigh,  with  several  persons  of 
both  sexes,  appeared,  in  a  road  which  led  through  the 
forest  into  that  in  which  I  stood.  They  moved  at  a  quick 
pace,  but  their  voices  were  hushed,  and  they  checked  the 
speed  of  their  horses,  on  discovering  us.  No  occurrence 
was  more  auspicious  than  this ;  for  I  relied  with  perfect 
confidence  on  the  benevolence  of  these  persons,  and,  as 
soon  as  they  came  near,  claimed  their  assistance. 

My  story  was  listened  to  with  sympathy,  and  one  of 
the  young  men,  leaping  from  the  sleigh,  assisted  me  in 
placing  Eliza  in  the  place  which  he  had  left.  A  female, 
of  sweet  aspect  and  engaging  manners,  insisted  upon 
turning  back  and  hastening  to  the  house,  where  it  seems 
her  father  resided,  and  which  the  party  had  just  left.  I 
rode  after  the  sleigh,  which  in  a  few  minutes  arrived  at 
the  house.  The  dwelling  was  spacious  and  neat,  and  a 
venerable  man  and  woman,  alarmed  by  the  quick  return 
of  the  young  people,  came  forth  to  know  the  cause. 
They  received  their  guest  with  the  utmost  tenderness, 
and  provided  her  with  all  the  accommodations  which  her 
condition  required.  Their  daughter  relinquished  the 
scheme  of  pleasure  in  which  she  had  been  engaged,  and, 
compelling  her  companions  to  depart  without  her,  re 
mained  to  nurse  and  console  the  sick. 

A  little  time  showed  that  no  lasting  injury  had  been 
Buffered.  Contusions,  more  troublesome  than  dangerous, 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR   1793.  73 

and  easily  curable  by  such  applications  as  rural  and  tra 
ditional  wisdom  has  discovered,  were  the  only  conse 
quences  of  the  fall.  My  mind,  being  relieved  from 
apprehensions  on  this  score,  had  leisure  to  reflect  upon 
the  use  which  might  be  made  of  the  present  state  of 
things. 

When  I  remarked  the  structure  of  this  house,  and  the 
features  and  deportment  of  its  inhabitants,  methought  I 
discerned  a  powerful  resemblance  between  this  family 
and  Hadwin's.  It  seemed  as  if  some  benignant  power 
had  led  us  hither  as  to  the  most  suitable  asylum  that 
could  be  obtained ;  and,  in  order  to  supply  to  the  forlorn 
Eliza  the  place  of  those  parents  and  that  sister  she  had 
lost,  I  conceived  that,  if  their  concurrence  could  be 
gained,  no  abode  was  more  suitable  than  this.  No  time 
was  to  be  lost  in  gaining  this  concurrence.  The  curiosity 
of  our  host  and  hostess,  whose  name  was  Curling,  speedily 
afforded  me  an  opportunity  to  disclose  the  history  and 
real  situation  of  my  friend.  There  were  no  motives  to 
reserve  or  prevarication.  There  was  nothing  which  I  did 
not  faithfully  arid  circumstantially  relate.  I  concluded 
with  stating  my  wishes  that  they  would  admit  my  friend 
as  a  boarder  into  their  house. 

The  old  man  was  warm*  in  his  concurrence.  His  wife 
betrayed  some  scruples ;  which,  however,  her  husband's 
arguments  and  mine  removed.  I  did  not  even  suppress 
the  tenor  and  destruction  of  the  will,  and  the  antipathy 
which  Eliza  had  conceived  for  her  uncle,  and  which  I 
declared  myself  unable  to  explain.  It  presently  ap 
peared  that  Mr.  Curling  had  some  knowledge  of  Philip 
Iladwin,  and  that  the  latter  had  acquired  the  repute  of 
being  obdurate  and  profligate.  He  employed  all  means 
to  accomplish  his  selfish  ends,  and  would  probably  en 
deavour  to  usurp  the  property  which  his  brother  had 
left.  To  provide  against  his  power  and  his  malice  would 
be  particularly  incumbent  on  us,  and  my  new  friend 
readily  promised  his  assistance  in  the  measures  which  we 
should  take  to  that  end. 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

THE  state  of  my  feelings  may  be  easily  conceived  to 
consist  of  mixed,  but,  on  the  whole,  of  agreeable,  sensa 
tions.  The  death  of  Hadwin  and  his  elder  daughter 
could  not  be  thought  upon  without  keen  regrets.  These 
it  was  useless  to  indulge,  and  were  outweighed  by  reflec 
tions  on  the  personal  security  in  which  the  survivor  was 
now  placed.  It  was  hurtful  to  expend  my  unprofitable 
cares  upon  the  dead,  while  there  existed  one  to  whom 
they  could  be  of  essential  benefit,  and  in  whose  happi 
ness  they  would  find  an  ample  compensation. 

This  happiness,  however,  was  still  incomplete.  It  was 
still  exposed  to  hazard,  and  much  remained  to  be  done 
before  adequate  provision  was  made  against  the  worst 
of  evils,  poverty.  I  now  found  that  Eliza,  being  only 
fifteen  years  old,  stood  in  need  of  a  guardian,  and  that 
the  forms  of  law  required  that  some  one  should  make 
himself  her  father's  administrator.  Mr.  Curling,  being 
tolerably  conversant  with  these  subjects,  pointed  out  the 
mode  to  be  pursued,  and  engaged  to  act  on  this  occasion 
as  Eliza's  friend. 

There  was  another  topic  on  which  my  happiness,  as 
well  as  that  of  my  friend,  required  us  to  form  some  de 
cision.  I  formerly  mentioned,  that,  during  my  abode  at 
Malverton,  I  had  not  been  insensible  to  the  attractions 
of  this  girl.  An  .affection  had  stolen  upon  me,  for  which 
it  was  easily  discovered  that  I  should  not  have  been  de 
nied  a  suitable  return.  My  reasons  for  stifling  these 
emotions,  at  that  time,  have  been  mentioned.  It  may 
now  be  asked,  what  effect  subsequent  events  had  pro 
duced  on  my  feelings,  and  how  far  partaking  and  re 
lieving  her  distresses  had  revived  a  passion  which  may 
74 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR   1793.  75 

readily  be  supposed  to  have  been,  at  no  time,  entirely 
extinguished. 

The  impediments  which  then  existed  were  removed. 
Our  union  would  no  longer  risk  the  resentment  or  sor 
row  of  her  excellent  parent.  She  had  no  longer  a  sister 
to  divide  with  her  the  property  of  the  farm,  and  make 
what  was  sufficient  for  both,  when  living  together,  too 
little  for  either  separately.  Her  youth  and  simplicity 
required,  beyond  most  others,  a  legal  protector,  and  her 
happiness  was  involved  in  the  success  of  those  hopes 
which  she  took  no  pains  to  conceal. 

As  to  me,  it  seemed  at  first  view  as  if  every  incident 
conspired  to  determine  my  choice.  Omitting  all  regard 
to  the  happiness  of  others,  my  own  interest  could  not 
fail  to  recommend  a  scheme  by  which  the  precious  benefits 
of  competence  and  independence  might  be  honestly  ob 
tained.  The  excursions  of  my  fancy  had  sometimes 
carried  me  beyond  the  bounds  prescribed  by  my  situa 
tion,  but  they  were,  nevertheless,  limited  to  that  field  to 
which  I  had  once  some  prospect  of  acquiring  a  title. 
All  I  wanted  for  the  basis  of  my  gaudiest  and  most 
dazzling  structures  was  a  hundred  acres  of  plough-land 
and  meadow.  Here  my  spirit  of  improvement,  my  zeal 
to  invent  and  apply  new  maxims  of  household  luxury 
and  convenience,  new  modes  and  instruments  of  tillage, 
new  arts  connected  with  orchard,  garden,  and  cornfield, 
were  supplied  with  abundant  scope.  Though  the  want 
of  these  would  not  benumb  my  activity,  or  take  away 
content,  the  possession  would  confer  exquisite  and  per 
manent  enjoyments. 

My  thoughts  have  ever  hovered  over  the  images  of 
wife  and  children  with  more  delight  than  over  any  other 
images.  My  fancy  was  always  active  on  this  theme,  and 
its  reveries  sufficiently  ecstatic  and  glowing ;  but,  since 
my  intercourse  with  this  girl,  my  scattered  visions  were 
collected  and  concentrated.  I  had  now  a  form  and  fea 
tures  before  me ;  a  sweet  and  melodious  voice  vibrated 
in  my  ear ;  my  soul  was  filled,  as  it  were,  with  her  linea 
ments  and  gestures,  actions  and  looks.  All  ideas,  pos 
sessing  any  relation  to  beauty  or  sex,  appeared  to  assume 
this  shape.  They  kept  an  immovable  place  in  my  mind, 


76  4RTIIUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

they  diffused    around  them  an   ineffable  complacency 
Love  is  merely  6T  value  as  a  prelude  to  a  more  tender, 
intimate,  and  sacred  union.     Was  I  not  in  love?    and 
did  I  not  pant  after  the  irrevocable  bounds,  the  bound 
less  privileges,  of  wedlock  ? 

The  question  which  others  might  ask,  I  have  asked 
myself: — Was  I  not  in  love?  I  am  really  at  a  loss  for 
an  answer.  There  seemed  to  be  irresistible  weight  in 
the  reasons  why  1  should  refuse  to  marry,  and  even  for 
bear  to  foster  love  in  my  friend.  I  considered  my  youth, 
my  defective  education,  and  my  limited  views.  I  had 
passed  from  my  cottage  into  the  world.  I  had  acquired, 
even  in  my  transient  sojourn  among  the  busy  haunts  of 
men,  more  knowledge  than  the  lucubrations  arid  employ 
ments  of  all  my  previous  years  had  conferred.  Hence 
I  might  infer  the  childlike  immaturity  of  my  understand 
ing,  and  the  rapid  progress  I  was  still  capable  of  making. 
Was  this  an  age  to  form  an  irrevocable  contract ;  to 
choose  the  companion  of  my  future  life,  the  associate  of 
my  schemes  of  intellectual  and  benevolent  activity  ? 

I  had  reason  to  contemn  my  own  acquisitions ;  but 
were  not  those  of  Eliza  still  more  slender  ?  Could  I 
rely  upon  the  permanence  of  her  equanimity  and  her 
docility  to  my  instructions?  What  qualities  might  not 
time  unfold,  and  how  little  was  I  qualified  to  estimate 
the  character  of  one  whom  no  vicissitude  or  hardship 
had  approached  before  the  death  of  her  father, — whose 
ignorance  was,  indeed,  great,  when  it  could  justly  be 
said  even  to  exceed  my  own  ! 

Should  I  mix  with  the  world,  enroll  myself  in  different 
classes  of  society,  be  a  witness  to  new  scenes ;  might 
not  my  modes  of  judging  undergo  essential  varia 
tions  ?  Might  I  not  gain  the  knowledge  of  beings  whose 
virtue  was  the  gift  of  experience  and  the  growth  of 
knowledge  ?  who  joined  to  the  modesty  and  charms 
of  woman  the  benefits  of  education,  the  maturity  and 
steadfastness  of  age,  and  with  whose  character  and  sen 
timents  my  own  would  be  much  more  congenial  than 
they  could  possibly  be  with  the  extreme  youth,  rustic 
simplicity,  and  mental  imperfections  of  Eliza  Hadwin  ? 

To  say  truth,  I  was  now  conscious  of  a  revolution  in 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  77 

my  mind.  I  can  scarcely  assign  its  ti'ue  cause.  No 
tokens  of  it  appeared  during  my  late  retreat  to  Malver- 
ton.  Subsequent  incidents,  perhaps,  joined  with  the  in 
fluence  of  meditation,  had  generated  new  views.  On  my 
first  visit  to  the  city,  I  had  met  with  nothing  but  scenes 
of  folly,  depravity,  and  cunning.  No  wonder  that  the 
images  connected  with  the  city  were  disastrous  and 
gloomy ;  but  my  second  visit  produced  somewhat  dif 
ferent  impressions.  Maravegli,  Estwick,  Medlicote,  and 
you,  were  beings  who  inspired  veneration  and  love. 
Your  residence  appeared  to  beautify  and  consecrate  this 
spot,  and  gave  birth  to  an  opinion  that,  if  cities  are  the 
chosen  seats  of  misery  and  vice,  they  are  likewise  the  soil 
of  all  the  laudable  and  strenuous  productions  of  mind. 

My  curiosity  and  thirst  of  knowledge  had  likewise  re 
ceived  a  new  direction.  Books  and  inanimate  nature 
were  cold  and  lifeless  instructors.  Men,  and  the  works 
of  men,  were  the  objects  of  rational  study,  and  our  own 
eyes  only  could  communicate  just  conceptions  of  human 
performances.  The  influence  of  manners,  professions, 
and  social  institutions,  could  be  thoroughly  known  only 
by  direct  inspection. 

Competence,  fixed  property  and  a  settled  abode,  rural 
occupations  and  conjugal  pleasures,  were  justly  to  be 
prized  ;  but  their  value  could  be  known  and  their  benefits 
fully  enjoyed  only  by  those  who  have  tried  all  scenes ; 
who  have  mixed  with  all  classes  and  ranks ;  who  have 
partaken  of  all  conditions ;  and  who  have  visited  dif 
ferent  hemispheres  and  climates  and  nations.  The  next 
five  or  eight  years  of  my  life  should  be  devoted  to  ac 
tivity  and  change ;  it  should  be  a  period  of  hardship, 
danger,  and  privation ;  it  should  be  my  apprenticeship 
to  fortitude  and  wisdom,  and  be  employed  to  fit  me  for 
the  tranquil  pleasures  and  steadfast  exertions  of  the 
remainder  of  my  life. 

In  consequence  of  these  reflections,  I  determined  to 
suppress  that  tenderness  which  the  company  of  Miss 
Hadwin  produced,  to  remove  any  mistakes  into  which 
she  had  fallen,  and  to  put  it  out  of  my  power  to  claim 
for  her  more  than  the  dues  of  friendship.  All  ambi 
guities,  in  a  case  like  this,  and  all  delays,  were  hurtful. 


78  ARTHUR  AIERVYN;    OR, 

She  was  not  exempt  from  passion,  but  this  passion,  I 
thought,  was  young,  and  easily  extinguished. 

In  a  short  time  her  health  was  restored,  and  her  grief 
melted  down  into  a  tender  melancholy.  I  chose  a  suit 
able  moment,  when  not  embarrassed  by  the  presence  of 
others,  to  reveal  my  thoughts.  My  disclosure  was  in 
genuous  and  perfect.  I  laid  before  her  the  whole  train 
of  my  thoughts,  nearly  in  the  order,  though  in  different 
and  more  copious  terms  than  those,  in  which  I  have  just 
explained  them  to  you.  I  concealed  nothing.  The  im 
pression  which  her  artless  loveliness  had  made  upon  me 
at  Malverton ;  my  motives  for  estranging  myself  from 
her  society ;  the  nature  of  my  present  feelings  with  re 
gard  to  her,  and  my  belief  of  the  state  of  her  heart ; 
the  reasonings  into  which  I  had  entered ;  the  advan 
tages  of  wedlock  and  its  inconveniences ;  and,  finally, 
the  resolution  I  had  formed  of  seeking  the  city,  and, 
perhaps,  of  crossing  the  ocean,  were  minutely  detailed. 

She  interrupted  me  not,  but  changing  looks,  blushes, 
flutterings,  and  sighs,  showed  her  to  be  deeply  and  vari 
ously  affected  by  my  discourse.  I  paused  for  some  ob 
servation  or  comment.  She  seemed  conscious  of  my  ex 
pectation,  but  had  no  power  to  speak.  Overpowered,  at 
length,  by  her  emotions,  she  burst  into  tears. 

I  was  at  a  loss  in  what  manner  to  construe  these  symp 
toms.  I  waited  till  her  vehemence  was  somewhat  sub 
sided,  and  then  said,  "What  think  you  of  my  schemes? 
Your  approbation  is  of  some  moment :  do  you  approve 
of  them  or  not?" 

This  question  excited  some  little  resentment,  and  she 
answered,  "You  have  left  me  nothing  to  say.  Go,  and 
be  happy;  no  matter  what  becomes  of  me.  I  hope  I 
shall  be  able  to  take  care  of  myself." 

The  tone  in  which  this  was  said  had  something  in  it 
of  upbraiding.  "Your  happiness,"  said  I,  "is  too  dear 
to  me  to  leave  it  in  danger.  In  this  house  you  will  not 
need  my  protection,  but  I  shall  never  be  so  far  from  you 
as  to  be  disabled  from  hearing  how  you  fare,  by  letter, 
and  of  being  active  for  your  good.  You  have  some 
money,  which  you  must  husband  well.  Any  rent  from 
your  farm  cunnot  be  soon  expected ;  but  what  you  have 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  79 

got,  if  you  remain  with  Mr.  Curling,  will  pay  your  board 
and  all  other  expenses  for  two  years ;  but  you  must  be 
a  good  economist.  I  shall  expect,"  continued  I,  with  a 
serious  smile,  "a  punctual  account  of  all  your  sayings 
and  doings.  I  must  know  how  every  minute  is  employed 
and  every  penny  is  expended,  and,  if  I  find  you  erring, 
I  must  tell  you  so  in  good  round  terms." 

These  words  did  not  dissipate  the  sullenness  which  her 
looks  had  betrayed.  She  still  forbore  to  look  at  me, 
and  said,  "I  do  not  know  how  I  should  tell  you  every 
thing.  You  care  so  little  about  me  that — I  should  only 
be  troublesome.  I  am  old  enough  to  think  and  act  for 
myself,  and  shall  advise  with  nobody  but  myself." 

"That  is  true,"  said  I.  "I  shall  rejoice  to  see  you 
independent  and  free.  Consult  your  own  understanding, 
and  act  according  to  its  dictates.  Nothing  more  is  want 
ing  to  make  you  useful  and  happy.  I  am  anxious  to  re 
turn  to  the  city,  but,  if  you  will  allow  me,  will  go  first 
to  Malverton,  see  that  things  are  in  due  order,  and  that 
old  Caleb  is  well.  From  thence,  if  you  please,  I  will 
call  at  your  uncle's,  and  tell  him  what  has  happened. 
He  may,  otherwise,  entertain  pretensions  and  form  views 
erroneous  in  themselves  and  injurious  to  you.  He  may 
think  himself  entitled  to  manage  your  estate.  He  may 
either  suppose  a  will  to  have  been  made,  or  may  actually 
have  heard  from  your  father,  or  from  others,  of  that 
which  you  burnt,  and  in  which  he  was  named  executor. 
His  boisterous  and  sordid  temper  may  prompt  him  to 
seize  your  house  and  goods,  unless  seasonably  apprized 
of  the  truth ;  and,  when  he  knows  the  truth,  he  may 
start  into  rage,  which  I  shall  be  more  fitted  to  encounter 
than  you.  I  am  told  that  anger  transforms  him  into  a 
ferocious  madman.  Shall  I  call  upon  him  ?" 

She  shuddered  at  the  picture  which  I  had  drawn  of 
her  uncle's  character;  but  this  emotion  quickly  gave 
place  to  self-upbraiding  for  the  manner  in  which  she  had 
repelled  my  proffers  of  service.  She  melted  once  more 
into  tears,  and  exclaimed, — 

"I  am  not  worthy  of  the  pains  you  take  for  me.  I 
am  unfeeling  and  ungrateful.  Why  should  I  think  ill 
of  you  for  despising  me,  when  I  despise  myself?" 


8O  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

"You  do  yourself  injustice,  my  friend.  I  think  I  see 
your  most  secret  thoughts;  and  these,  instead  of  ex 
citing  anger  or  contempt,  only  awaken  compassion  and 
tenderness.  You  love;  and  must,  therefore,  conceive 
my  conduct  to  be  perverse  and  cruel.  I  counted  on 
your  harbouring  such  thoughts.  Time  only  and  reflec 
tion  will  enable  you  to  see  my  motives  in  their  true  light. 
Hereafter  you  will  recollect  my  words,  and  find  them 
sufficient  to  justify  my  conduct.  You  will  acknowledge 
the  propriety  of  my  engaging  in  the  cares  of  the  world 
before  I  sit  down  in  retirement  and  ease." 

"Ah !  how  much  you  mistake  me !  I  admire  and  ap 
prove  of  your  schemes.  What  angers  and  distresses  me 
is,  that  you  think  me  unworthy  to  partake  of  your  cares 
and  labours ;  that  you  regard  my  company  as  an  obstacle 
and  encumbrance;  that  assistance  and  counsel  must  all 
proceed  from  you;  and  that  no  scene  is  fit  for  me,  but 
what  you  regard  as  slothful  and  inglorious. 

"  Have  I  not  the  same  claims  to  be  wise,  and  active,  and 
courageous,  as  you  ?  If  I  am  ignorant  and  weak,  do  I  not 
owe  it  to  the  same  cause  that  has  made  you  so?  and  will 
not  the  same  means  which  promote  your  improvement  be 
likewise  useful  to  me  ?  You  desire  to  obtain  knowledge,  by 
travelling  and  conversing  with  many  persons,  and  study 
ing  many  sciences ;  but  you  desire  it  for  yourself  alone. 
Me  you  think  poor,  weak,  and  contemptible;  fit  for 
nothing  but  to  spin  and  churn.  Provided  I  exist,  am 
screened  from  the  weather,  have  enough  to  eat  and  drink, 
you  are  satisfied.  As  to  strengthening  my  mind  and 
enlarging  my  knowledge,  these  things  are  valuable  to 
you,  but  on  me  they  are  thrown  away.  1  deserve  not 
the  gift." 

This  strain,  simple  and  just  as  it  was,  was  wholly  un 
expected.  I  was  surprised  and  disconcerted.  In  my 
previous  reasonings  I  had  certainly  considered  her  sex 
as  utterly  unfitting  her  for  those  scenes  and  pursuits  to 
which  I  had  destined  myself.  Not  a  doubt  of  the 
validity  of  my  conclusion  had  insinuated  itself;  but  now 
my  belief  was  shaken,  though  it  was  not  subverted. 
I  could  not  deny  that  human  ignorance  was  curable  by 
the  same  means  iu  one  sex  as  iu  the  other;  thut  forti- 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  /79J.  8 1 

tude  and  skill  were  of  no  less  value  to  one  than  to  the 
other. 

Questionless,  my  friend  was  rendered,  by  her  age  and 
inexperience,  if  not  by  sex,  more  helpless  and  dependent 
than  I;  but  had  I  not  been  prone  to  overrate  the  diffi 
culties  which  I  should  encounter?  Had  I  not  deemed 
unjustly  of  her  constancy  and  force  of  mind?  Marriage 
would  render  her  property  joint,  and  would  not  compel 
me  to  take  up  my  abode  in  the  woods,  to  abide  forever  in 
one  spot,  to  shackle  my  curiosity,  or  limit  my  excursions. 

But  marriage  was  a  contract  awful  and  irrevocable. 
Was  this  the  woman  with  whom  my  reason  enjoined  me 
to  blend  my  fate,  without  the  power  of  dissolution? 
Would  not  time  unfold  qualities  in  her  which  I  did  not 
at  present  suspect,  and  which  would  evince  an  incurable 
diiference  in  our  minds?  Would  not  time  lead  me  to 
the  feet  of  one  who  more  nearly  approached  that  stand 
ard  of  ideal  excellence  which  poets  and  romancers  had 
exhibited  to  my  view? 

These  considerations  were  powerful  and  delicate.  I 
knew  not  in  what  terms  to  state  them  to  my  companion, 
so  as  to  preclude  the  imputation  of  arrogance  or  inde 
corum.  It  became  me,  however,  to  be  explicit,  and  to 
excite  her  resentment  rather  than  mislead  her  judgment. 
She  collected  my  meaning  from  a  few  words,  and,  in 
terrupting  me,  said. — 

"  How  very  low  is  the  poor  Eliza  in  your  opinion ! 
We  are,  indeed,  both  too  young  to  be  married.  May  I 
not  see  you,  and  talk  with  you,  without  being  your  wife? 
May  I  not  share  your  knowledge,  relieve  your  cares> 
and  enjoy  your  confidence,  as  a  sister  might  do?  May 
I  not  accompany  you  in  your  journeys  and  studies,  as 
one  friend  accompanies  another?  My  property  may  be 
yours;  you  may  employ  it  for  your  benefit  and  mine; 
not  because  you  are  my  husband,  but  my  friend.  You 
are  going  to  the  city.  Let  me  go  along  with  you.  Let 
me  live  where  you  live.  The  house  that  is  large  enough 
to  hold  you  will  hold  me.  The  fare  that  is  good  enough 
for  you  will  be  luxury  to  me.  Oh !  let  it  be  so,  will 
you? 

"  You  cannot  think  how  studious,  how  thoughtful,  how 
(i 


82  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

inquisitive,  I  will  be.  How  tenderly  I  will  nurse  you 
when  sick !  it  is  possible  you  may  be  sick,  you  know,  and, 
no  one  in  the  world  will  be  half  so  watchful  and  affection 
ate  as  I  shall  be.  Will  you  let  me?" 

In  saying  this,  her  earnestness  gave  new  pathos  to  her 
voice.  Insensibly  she  put  her  face  close  to  mine,  and, 
transported  beyond  the  usual  bounds  of  reserve  by  the 
charms  of  that  picture  which  her  fancy  contemplated, 
she  put  her  lips  to  my  cheek,  and  repeated,  in  a  melting 
accent,  "Will  you  let  me?" 

You,  my  friends,  who  have  not  seen  Eliza  Hadwin, 
cannot  conceive  what  effect  this  entreaty  was  adapted  to 
produce  in  me.  She  has  surely  the  sweetest  voice,  the 
most  speaking  features,  and  most  delicate  symmetry, 
that  ever  woman  possessed.  Her  guileless  simplicity 
and  tenderness  made  her  more  enchanting.  To  be  the 
object  of  devotion  to  a  heart  so  fervent  and  pure  was, 
surely,  no  common  privilege.  Thus  did  she  tender  me 
herself;  and  was  not  the  gift  to  be  received  with  eager 
ness  and  gratitude  ? 

No.  I  was  not  so  much  a  stranger  to  mankind  as  to 
acquiesce  in  this  scheme.  As  my  sister  or  my  wife,  the 
world  would  suffer  us  to  reside  under  the  same  roof;  to 
apply  to  common  use  the  same  property;  and  daily  to 
enjoy  the  company  of  each  other;  but  she  was  not  my 
sister,  and  marriage  would  be  an  act  of  the  grossest 
indiscretion.  I  explained  to  her,  in  few  words,  the 
objections  to  which  her  project  was  liable. 

"Well,  then,"  said  she,  "  let  me  live  in  the  next  house, 
in  the  neighbourhood,  or,  at  least,  in  the  same  city.  Let 
me  be  where  I  may  see  you  once  a  day,  or  once  a  week, 
or  once  a  month.  Shut  me  not  wholly  from  your  so 
ciety,  and  the  means  of  becoming,  in  time,  less  ignorant 
and  foolish  than  I  now  am." 

After  a  pause,  I  replied,  "  I  love  you  too  well  not  to 
comply  witli  this  request.  Perhaps  the  city  will  be  as 
suitable  a  residence  as  any  other  for  you,  as  it  will,  for 
some  time,  be  most  convenient  to  me.  I  shall  be  better 
able  to  watch  over  your  welfare,  and  supply  you  with  the 
means  of  improvement,  when  you  are  within  a  small  dis 
tance.  At  present,  you  must  consent  to  remain  here, 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  /7?J.  83 

while  I  visit  your  uncle,  and  afterwards  go  to  the  city. 
I  shall  look  out  for  you  a  suitable  lodging,  and  inform 
you  when  it  is  found.  If  you  then  continue  in  the  same 
mind,  I  will  come,  and,  having  gained  the  approbation 
of  Mr.  Curling,  will  conduct  you  to  town."  Here  ended 
our  dialogue. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

THOUGH  I  had  consented  to  this  scheme,  I  was  con 
scious  that  some  hazards  attended  it.  I  was  afraid  of 
calumny,  which  might  trouble  the  peace  or  destroy 
the  reputation  of  my  friend.  I  was  afraid  of  my  own 
weakness,  which  might  be  seduced  into  an  indiscreet 
marriage  by  the  charms  or  suffering.?  of  this  bewitching 
creature.  I  felt  that  there  was  no  price  too  dear  to  save 
her  from  slander.  A  fair  fame  is  of  the  highest  im 
portance  to  a  young  female,  and  the  loss  of  it  but 
poorly  supplied  by  the  testimony  of  her  own  conscience. 
I  had  reason  for  tenfold  solicitude  on  this  account,  since 
I  was  her  only  protector  and  friend.  Hence,  I  cherished 
some  hopes  that  time  might  change  her  views,  and  sug 
gest  less  dangerous  schemes.  Meanwhile,  I  was  to  lose 
no  time  in  visiting  Malverton  and  Philip  Hadwin. 

About  ten  days  had  elapsed  since  we  had  deserted 
Malverton.  These  were  days  of  successive  storms,  and 
travelling  had  been  rendered  inconvenient.  The  weather 
was  now  calm  and  clear,  and,  early  in  the  morning  that 
ensued  the  dialogue  which  I  have  just  related,  I  set  out 
on  horseback. 

Honest  Caleb  was  found  eating  his  breakfast  nearly 
in  the  spot  where  he  had  been  first  discovered.  He 
answered  my  inquiries  by  saying,  that,  two  days  after 
our  departure,  several  men  had  come  to  the  house, 
one  of  whom  was  Philip  Hadwin.  They  had  interro 
gated  him  as  to  the  condition  of  the  farm,  and  the  pur 
pose  of  his  remaining  on  it.  William  lladwin  they 
knew  to  have  been  some  time  dead;  but  where  were  the 
girls,  his  daughters  ? 

Caleb  answered  that  Susy,  the  eldest,  was  likewise 
dead. 

84 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR   1793.  85 

These  tidings  excited  astonishment.  When  died  she, 
and  how,  and  where  was  she  buried  ? 

It  happened  two  days  before,  and  she  was  buried,  he 
believed,  but  could  not  tell  where. 

Not  tell  where  ?     By  whom,  then,  was  she  buried  ? 

Really,  he  could  not  tell.  Some  strange  man  came 
there  just  as  she  was  dying.  He  went  to  the  room,  and, 
when  she  was  dead,  took  her  away,  but  what  he  did  with 
the  body  was  more  than  he  could  say,  but  he  had  a 
notion  that  he  buried  it.  The  man  stayed  till  the  morn 
ing,  and  then  went  off  with  Lizzy,  leaving  him  to  keep 
house  by  himself.  He  had  not  seen  either  of  them,  nor, 
indeed,  a  single  soul  since. 

This  was  all  the  information  that  Caleb  could  afford 
the  visitants.  It  was  so  lame  and  incredible  that  they 
began  to  charge  the  man  with  falsehood,  and  to  threaten 
him  with  legal  animadversion.  Just  then  Mr.  Ellis  en 
tered  the  house,  and,  being  made  acquainted  with  the 
subject  of  discourse,  told  all  that  he  himself  knew.  He 
related  the  midnight  visit  which  I  had  paid  him,  ex 
plained  my  former  situation  in  the  family,  and  my  dis 
appearance  in  September.  He  stated  the  advice  he  had 
given  me  to  carry  Eliza  to  her  uncle's,  and  my  promise 
to  comply  with  his  counsel.  The  uncle  declared  he  had 
seen  nothing  of  his  niece,  and  Caleb  added,  that,  when 
she  set  out,  she  took  the  road  that  led  to  town. 

These  hints  afforded  grounds  for  much  conjecture  and 
suspicion.  Ellis  now  mentioned  some  intelligence  that 

he  had  gathered  respecting  me  in  a  late  journey  to . 

It  seems  I  was  the  son  of  an  honest  farmer  in  that  quar 
ter,  who  married  a  tidy  girl  of  a  milkmaid  that  lived 
with  him.  My  father  had  detected  me  in  making  some 
atrocious  advances  to  my  mother-in-law,  and  had  turned 
me  out  of  doors.  I  did  not  go  off,  however,  without 
rifiing  his  drawer  of  some  hundreds  of  dollars,  which  he 
had  laid  up  against  a  rainy  day.  I  was  noted  for  such 
pranks,  and  was  hated  by  all  the  neighbours  for  my  pride 
and  laziness.  It  was  easy,  by  comparison  of  circum 
stances,  for  Ellis  to  ascertain  that  Hadwin's  servant 
Mervyn  was  the  same  against  whom  such  heavy  charges 
were  laid. 


86  ARTHUR   MRRVYff;    Off, 

Previously  to  this  journey,  he  had  heard  of  me  from 
Hadwin,  who  was  loud  in  praise  of  my  diligence,  so 
briety,  and  modesty.  For  his  part,  he  had  always  been 
cautious  of  giving  countenance  to  vagrants  that  came 
from  nobody  knew  where,  arid  worked  their  way  with  a 
plausible  tongue.  He  was  not  surprised  to  hear  it  whis 
pered  that  Betsy  Haclwin  had  fallen  in  love  with  the 
youth,  and  now,  no  doubt,  he  had  persuaded  her  to  run 
away  with  him.  The  heiress  of  a  fine  farm  was  a  prize 
not  to  be  met  with  every  day. 

Philip  broke  into  rage  at  this  news;  swore  that  if  it 
turned  out  so,  his  niece  should  starve  upon  the  town, 
and  that  he  would  take  good  care  to  balk  the  lad.  His 
brother  he  well  knew  had  left  a  will,  to  which  he  was 
executor,  and  that  this  will  would  in  good  time  be  forth 
coming.  After  much  talk  and  ransacking  the  house, 
and  swearing  at  his  truant  niece,  he  and  his  company 
departed,  charging  Caleb  to  keep  the  house  and  its  con 
tents  for  his  use.  This  was  all  that  Caleb's  memory 
had  retained  of  that  day's  proceedings. 

Curling  had  lately  commented  on  the  character  of 
Philip  Hadwin.  This  man  was  totally  unlike  his  brother, 
was  a  noted  brawler  and  bully,  a  tyrant  to  his  children, 
a  plague  to  his  neighbours,  and  kept  a  rendezvous  for 
drunkards  and  idlers,  at  the  sign  of  the  Bull's  Head,  at 

.     He  was  not  destitute  of  parts,  and  was  no  less 

dreaded  for  cunning  than  malignity.  He  was  covet 
ous,  and  never  missed  an  opportunity  of  overreaching 
his  neighbour.  There  was  no  doubt  that  his  niece's 
property  would  be  embezzled  should  it  ever  come  into 
his  hands,  and  any  power  which  he  might  obtain  over 
her  person  would  be  exercised  to  her  destruction.  Ilia 
children  were  tainted  with  the  dissoluteness  of  their 
father,  and  marriage  had  not  repaired  the  reputation  of 
his  daughters,  or  cured  them  of  depravity :  this  was  the 
man  whom  I  now  proposed  to  visit. 

I  scarcely  need  to  say  that  the  calumny  of  Betty 
Lawrence  gave  me  no  uneasiness.  My  father  had  no 
doubt  been  deceived,  as  well  as  my  father's  neighbours, 
by  the  artifices  of  this  woman.  I  passed  among  them 
for  a  thief  and  a  profligate,  but  their  error  had  hitherto 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  8/ 

been  harmless  to  me.  The  time  might  come  which 
should  confute  the  tale  without  my  efforts.  Betty, 
sooner  or  later,  would  drop  her  mask,  and  afford  the 
antidote  to  her  own  poisons,  unless  some  new  incident 
should  occur  to  make  me  hasten  the  catastrophe. 

I  arrived  at  Hadwin's  house.  I  was  received  with 
some  attention  as  a  guest.  I  looked,  among  the  pimpled 
visages  that  filled  the  piazza,  for  that  of  the  landlord, 
but  found  him  in  an  inner  apartment  with  two  or  three 
more  seated  round  a  table.  On  intimating  iny  wish  to 
speak  with  him  alone,  the  others  withdrew. 

Hadwin's  visage  had  some  traces  of  resemblance  to 
his  brother;  but  the  meek,  placid  air,  pale  cheeks,  and 
slender  form  of  the  latter  were  powerfully  contrasted 
with  the  bloated  arrogance,  imperious  brow,  and  robust 
limbs  of  the  former.  This  man's  rage  was  awakened  by 
a  straw ;  it  impelled  him  in  an  instant  to  oaths  and  buf 
ferings,  and  made  his  life  an  eternal  brawl.  The  sooner 
my  interview  with  such  a  personage  should  be  at  an  end, 
the  better.  I  therefore  explained  the  purpose  of  my 
coming  as  fully  and  in  as  few  words  as  possible. 

"Your  name,  sir,  is  Philip  Had  win.  Your  brother 
William,  of  Malverton,  died  lately  and  left  two  daugh 
ters.  The  youngest  only  is  now  alive,  and  I  come,  com 
missioned  from  her,  to  inform  you  that,  as  no  will  of  her 
father's  is  extant,  she  is  preparing  to  administer  to  his 
estate.  As  her  father's  brother,  she  thought  you  en 
titled  to  this  information." 

The  change  which  took  place  in  the  countenance  of 
this  man,  during  this  address,  was  remarkable,  but  not 
easily  described.  His  cheeks  contracted  a  deeper  crim 
son,  his  eyes  sparkled,  and  his  face  assumed  an  expres 
sion  in  which  curiosity  was  mingled  with  rage.  He  bent 
forward,  and  said,  in  a  hoarse  and  contemptuous  tone, 
"  Pray,  is  your  name  Mervyn  ?" 

I  answered,  without  hesitation,  and  as  if  the  question 
were  wholly  unimportant,  "Yes;  my  name  is  Mervyn." 

"  God  damn  it !  You  then  are  the  damned  rascal" — 
(but  permit  me  to  repeat  his  speech  without  the  oaths 
with  which  it  was  plentifully  interlarded.  Not  three 
words  were  uttered  without  being  garnished  with  a  — 


88  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

"God  damn  it!"  "damnation!"  "I'll  be  damned  tc 
hell  if" — and  the  like  energetic  expletives.)  "You  then 
are  the  rascal  that  robbed  Billy's  house ;  that  ran  away 
with  the  fool  his  daughter ;  persuaded  her  to  burn  her 
father's  will,  and  have  the  hellish  impudence  to  come  into 
this  house  !  But  I  thank  you  for  it.  I  was  going  to  look 
for  you ;  you've  saved  me  trouble.  I'll  settle  all  ac 
counts  with  you  here.  Fair  and  softly,  my  good  lad  ! 
If  I  don't  bring  you  to  the  gallows — If  I  let  you  escape 
without  such  a  dressing  !  Damned  impudence  !  Fellow ! 
I've  been  at  Malverton.  I've  heard  of  your  tricks.  So ! 
finding  the  will  not  quite  to  your  mind,  knowing  that  the 
executor  would  balk  your  schemes,  you  threw  the  will 
into  the  fire;  you  robbed  the  house  of  all  the  cash,  and 
made  off  with  the  girl ! — The  old  fellow  saw  it  all,  and 
will  swear  to  the  truth." 

These  words  created  some  surprise.  I  meant  not  to 
conceal  from  this  man  the  tenor  and  destruction  of  the 
will,  nor  even  the  measures  which  his  niece  had  taken  or 
intended  to  take.  What  I  supposed  to  be  unknown  to 
him  appeared  to  have  been  communicated  by  the  talk 
ative  Caleb,  whose  mind  was  more  inquisitive  and  less 
sluggish  than  first  appearances  had  led  me  to  imagine. 
Instead  of  moping  by  the  kitchen-fire  when  Eliza  and  I 
were  conversing  in  an  upper  room,  it  now  appeared  that 
he  had  reconnoitred  our  proceedings  through  some  key 
hole  or  crevice,  and  had  related  what  he  had  seen  to 
Hadwin. 

Hadwin  proceeded  to  exhaust  his  rage  in  oaths  and 
menaces.  He  frequently  clenched  his  fist  and  thrust  it 
in  my  face,  drew  it  back  as  if  to  render  his  blow  more 
deadly;  ran  over  the  same  series  of  exclamations  on  my 
impudence  and  villany,  and  talked  of  the  gallows  and 
the  whipping-post ;  enforced  each  word  by  the  epithets 
damnable  and  hellish;  closed  each  sentence  with — "and 
be  curst  to  you !" 

There  was  but  one  mode  for  me  to  pursue ;  all  forcible 
opposition  to  a  man  of  his  strength  was  absurd.  It  was 
my  province  to  make  his  anger  confine  itself  to  words, 
and  patiently  to  wait  till  the  paroxysm  should  end  or 
Bubside  of  itself.  To  effect  this  purpose,  I  kept  my  seat, 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR   r?93-  89 

and  carefully  excluded  from  my  countenance  every  indi 
cation  of  timidity  and  panic  on  the  one  hand,  and  of 
scorn  and  defiance  on  the  other.  My  look  and  attitude 
were  those  of  a  man  who  expected  harsh  words,  but  who 
entertained  no  suspicion  that  blows  would  be  inflicted. 

I  was  indebted  for  my  safety  to  an  inflexible  adherence 
to  this  medium.  To  have  strayed,  for  a  moment,  to  either 
side,  would  have  brought  upon  me  his  blows.  That  he 
did  not  instantly  resort  to  violence  inspired  me  with 
courage,  since  it  depended  on  myself  whether  food  should 
be  supplied  to  his  passion.  Rage  must  either  progress 
or  decline;  and,  since  it  was  in  total  want  of  provoca 
tion,  it  could  not  fail  of  gradually  subsiding. 

My  demeanour  was  calculated  to  damp  the  flame,  not 
only  by  its  direct  influence,  but  by  diverting  his  attention 
from  the  wrongs  which  he  had  received,  to  the  novelty  of 
my  behaviour.  The  disparity  in  size  and  strength  be 
tween  us  was  too  evident  to  make  him  believe  that  I  con 
fided  in  my  sinews  for  my  defence  ;  and,  since  I  betrayed 
neither  contempt  nor  fear,  he  could  not  but  conclude  that 
I  trusted  to  my  own  integrity  or  to  his  moderation.  I 
seized  the  first  pause  in  his  rhetoric  to  enforce  this  senti 
ment. 

"  You  are  angry,  Mr.  Hadwin,  and  are  loud  in  your 
threats ;  but  they  do  not  frighten  me.  They  excite  no 
apprehension  or  alarm,  because  I  know  myself  able  to 
convince  you  that  I  have  not  injured  you.  This  is  an 
inn,  and  I  am  your  guest.  I  am  sure  I  shall  find  better 
entertainment  than  blows.  Come,"  continued  I,  smiling, 
"  it  is  possible  that  I  am  not  so  mischievous  a  wretch  as 
your  fancy  paints  me.  I  have  no  claims  upon  your  niece 
but  that  of  friendship,  and  she  is  now  in  the  house  of  an 
honest  man,  Mr.  Curling,  where  she  proposes  to  continue 
as  long  as  is  convenient. 

"  It  is  true  that  your  brother  left  a  will,  which  his 
daughter  burnt  in  my  presence,  because  she  dreaded  the 
authority  which  that  will  gave  you,  not  only  over  her 
property,  but  person.  It  is  true  that  on  leaving  the 
house  she  took  away  the  money  which  was  now  her  own, 
and  which  was  necessary  to  subsistence.  It  is  true  that 
I  bore  her  company,  and  have  loft  her  in  an  honest  man's 


90  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

keeping.  1  am  answerable  for  nothing  more.  As  to  you- 
I  meant  not  to  injure  you;  I  advised  not  the  burning  of 
the  will.  I  was  a  stranger,  till  after  that  event,  to  your 
character.  I  knew  neither  good  nor  ill  of  you.  I  came 
to  tell  you  all  this,  because,  as  Eliza's  uncle,  you  had  a 
right  to  the  information." 

"  So  !  you  come  to  tell  me  that  she  burnt  the  will,  and 
is  going  to  administer — to  what,  I  beseech  you  ?  To  her 
father's  property  ?  Ay,  I  warrant  you.  But  take  thia 
along  with  you : — that  property  is  mine ;  land,  house, 
stock,  every  thing.  All  is  safe  and  snug  under  cover  of 
a  mortgage,  to  which  Billy  was  kind  enough  to  add  a 
bond.  One  was  sued,  and  the  other  entered  up,  a  week 
ago.  So  that  all  is  safe  under  my  thumb,  and  the  girl 
may  whistle  or  starve  for  me.  I  shall  give  myself  no 
concern  about  the  strumpet.  You  thought  to  get  a  prize ; 
but,  damn  me,  you've  met  with  your  match  in  me.  Phil 
Haddin's  not  so  easily  choused,  I  promise  you.  I  in 
tended  to  give  you  this  news,  and  a  drubbing  into  the 
bargain  ;  but  you  may  go,  and  make  haste.  She  burnt 
the  will,  did  she,  because  I  was  named  in  it, — and  sent 
you  to  tell  me  so  ?  Good  souls  !  It  was  kind  of  you, 
and  I  am  bound  to  be  thankful.  Take  her  back  news  of 
the  mortgage ;  and,  as  for  you,  leave  my  house.  You 
may  go  scot-free  this  time ;  but  I  pledge  my  word  for  a 
sound  beating  when  you  next  enter  these  doors.  I'll  pay 
it  to  you  with  interest.  Leave  my  house,  I  say!" 

"A  mortgage,"  said  I,  in  a  low  voice,  aiid  affecting 
not  to  hear  his  commands  ;  "  that  will  be  sad  news  for 
my  friend.  Why,  sir,  you  are  a  fortunate  man.  Mal- 
verton  is  an  excellent  spot ;  well  watered  and  manured  ; 
newly  and  completely  fenced ;  not  a  larger  barn  in  the 
county;  oxen  and  horses  and  cows  in  the  best  order;  I 
never  set  eyes  on  a  finer  orchard.  By  my  faith,  sir,  you 
are  a  fortunate  man.  But,  pray,  what  have  you  for  din 
ner?  I  am  hungry  as  a  wolf.  Order  me  a  beef-steak, 
and  some  potation  or  other.  The  bottle  there, — it  is 
cider,  I  take  it;  pray,  push  it  to  this  side."  Saying 
this,  I  stretched  out  my  hand  towards  the  bottle  which 
stood  before  him. 

I  confided  in  the  power  of  a  fearless  and  sedate  man- 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  f?9J.  $1 

ner.  Methought  that,  as  anger  was  the  food  of  anger, 
it  must  unavoidably  subside  in  a  contest  with  equability. 
This  opinion  was  intuitive,  rather  than  the  product  of 
experience,  and  perhaps  I  gave  no  proof  of  my  sagacity 
in  hazarding  my  safety  on  its  truth.  Hadwin's  charac 
ter  made  him  dreaded  and  obeyed  by  all.  He  had  been 
accustomed  to  ready  and  tremulous  submission  from  men 
far  more  brawny  and  robust  than  I  was,  and  to  find  his 
most  vehement  menaces  and  gestures  totally  ineffectual 
on  a  being  so  slender  and  diminutive  at  once  wound  up 
his  rage  and  excited  his  astonishment.  One  motion 
counteracted  and  suspended  the  other.  He  lifted  his 
hand,  but  delayed  to  strike.  One  blow,  applied  with  his 
usual  dexterity,  was  sufficient  to  destroy  me.  Though 
seemingly  careless,  I  was  watchful  of  his  motions,  and 
prepared  to  elude  the  stroke  by  shrinking  or  stooping. 
Meanwhile,  I  stretched  my  hand  far  enough  to  seize  the 
bottle,  and,  pouring  its  contents  into  a  tumbler,  put  it  to 
my  lips : — 

"  Come,  sir,  I  drink  your  health,  and  wish  you  speedy 
possession  of  Malverton.  I  have  some  interest  with 
Eliza,  and  will  prevail  on  her  to  forbear  all  opposition 
and  complaint.  Why  should  she  complain  ?  While  I 
live,  she  shall  not  be  a  beggar.  No  doubt  your  claim  is 
legal,  and  therefore  ought  to  be  admitted.  What  the 
law  gave,  the  law  has  taken  away.  Blessed  be  the  dis 
pensers  of  law !  Excellent  cider !  open  another  bottle, 
will  you,  and,  I  beseech,  hasten  dinner,  if  you  would  not 
see  me  devour  the  table." 

It  was  just,  perhaps,  to  conjure  up  the  demon  avarice 
to  fight  with  the  demon  anger.  Reason  alone  would,  in 
such  a  contest,  be  powerless,  but,  in  truth,  I  spoke  with 
out  artifice  or  disguise.  If  his  claim  were  legal,  opposi 
tion  would  be  absurd  and  pernicious.  I  meant  not  to 
rely  upon  his  own  assertions,  and  would  not  acknowledge 
the  validity  of  his  claim  till  I  had  inspected  the  deed. 
Having  instituted  suits,  this  was  now  in  a  public  office, 
and  there  the  inspection  should  be  made.  Meanwhile, 
no  reason  could  be  urged  why  I  should  part  from  him  in 
anger,  while  his  kindred  to  Eliza,  and  his  title  to  her 
property,  made  it  useful  to  secure  his  favour.  It  was 


92  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

possible  to  obtain  a  remission  of  his  claims,  even  when 
the  law  enforced  them  ;  it  would  be  imprudent  at  least 
to  diminish  the  chances  of  remission  by  fostering  his 
wrath  and  provoking  his  enmity. 

"  What !"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  transport  of  fury,  "a'n't 
I  master  of  my  own  house  ?  Out,  I  say  !" 

These  were  harsh  terms,  but  they  were  not  accom 
panied  by  gestures  and  tones  so  menacing  as  those  which 
had  before  been  used.  It  was  plain  that  the  tide,  which 
BO  lately  threatened  my  destruction,  had  begun  to  re 
cede.  This  encouraged  me  to  persist. 

"Be  not  alarmed,  my  good  friend,"  said  I,  placidly 
and  smiling.  "A  man  of  your  bone  need  not  fear  a 
pigmy  like  me.  I  shall  scarcely  be  able  to  dethrone 
you  in  your  own  castle,  with  an  army  of  hostlers,  tap 
sters,  and  cooks  at  your  beck.  You  shall  still  be  master 
here,  provided  you  use  your  influence  to  procure  me  a 
dinner." 

His  acquiescence  in  a  pacific  system  was  extremely 
reluctant  and  gradual.  He  laid  aside  one  sullen  tone 
and  wrathful  look  after  the  other;  and,  at  length,  con 
sented  not  only  to  supply  me  with  a  dinner,  but  to  par 
take  of  it  with  me.  Nothing  was  more  a  topic  of  surprise 
to  himself  than  his  forbearance.  He  knew  not  how  it 
was.  He  had  never  been  treated  so  before.  He  was 
not  proof  against  entreaty  and  submission  ;  but  I  had 
neither  supplicated  nor  submitted.  The  stuff  that  I  was 
made  of  was  at  once  damnably  tough  and  devilishly 
pliant.  When  he  thought  of  my  impudence,  in  staying 
in  his  house  after  he  had  bade  me  leave  it,  he  was 
tempted  to  resume  his  passion.  When  he  reflected  on 
my  courage,  in  making  light  of  his  anger,  notwithstand 
ing  his  known  impetuosity  and  my  personal  inferiority, 
he  could  not  withhold  his  esteem.  But  my  patience 
under  his  rebukes,  my  unalterable  equanimity,  and  my 
ready  consent  to  the  validity  of  his  claims,  soothed  and 
propitiated  him. 

An  exemption  from  blows  and  abuse  was  all  that  I 
could  gain  from  this  man.  I  told  him  the  truth,  with 
regard  to  my  own  history,  so  far  as  it  was  connected 
with  the  lladwius.  I  exhibited,  in  affecting  colours, 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  93 

the  helpless  condition  of  Eliza ;  but  could  extort  from 
him  nothing  but  his  consent  that,  if  she  chose,  she  might 
come  and  live  with  him.  He  would  give  her  victuals  and 
clothes  for  so  much  house-work  as  she  was  able  to  do. 
]f  she  chose  to  live  elsewhere,  he  promised  not  to  molest 
her,  or  intermeddle  in  her  concerns.  The  house  and 
land  were  his  by  law,  and  he  would  have  them. 

It  was  not  my  province  to  revile  or  expostulate  with 
him.  I  stated  what  measures  would  be  adopted  by  a 
man  who  regarded  the  interest  of  others  more  than  his 
own;  who  was  anxious  for  the  welfare  of  an  innocent 
girl,  connected  with  him  so  closely  by  the  ties  of  kindred, 
and  who  was  destitute  of  what  is  called  natural  friends. 
If  he  did  not  cancel,  for  her  sake,  his  bond  and  mort 
gage,  he  would,  at  least,  afford  her  a  frugal  maintenance. 
He  would  extend  to  her,  in  all  emergencies,  his  counsel 
and  protection. 

All  that,  he  said,  was  sheer  nonsense.  He  could  not 
sufficiently  wonder  at  my  folly,  in  proposing  to  him  to 
make  a  free  gift  of  a  hundred  rich  acres,  to  a  girl  too 
who  scarcely  knew  her  right  hand  from  her  left ;  whom 
the  first  cunning  young  rogue  like  myself  would  chouse 
out  of  the  whole,  and  take  herself  into  the  bargain. 
But  my  folly  was  even  surpassed  by  my  impudence, 
since,  as  the  friend  of  this  girl,  I  was  merely  petitioning 
on  my  own  account.  I  had  come  to  him,  whom  I  never 
saw  before,  on  whom  I  had  no  claim,  and  who,  as  I  well 
knew,  had  reason  to  think  me  a  sharper,  and  modestly 
said,  "  Here's  a  girl  who  has  no  fortune.  I  am  greatly 
in  want  of  one.  Pray,  give  her  such  an  estate  that  you 
have  in  your  possession.  If  you  do,  I'll  marry  her,  and 
take  it  into  my  own  hands."  I  might  be  thankful  that 
he  did  not  answer  such  a  petition  with  a  horse-whipping. 
But  if  he  did  not  give  her  his  estate,  he  might  extend  to 
her,  forsooth,  his  counsel  and  protection.  "That  I've 
offered  to  do,"  continued  he.  "She  may  come  and  live 
in  my  house,  if  she  will.  She  may  do  some  of  the 
family  work.  I'll  discharge  the  chambermaid  to  make 
room  for  her.  Lizzy,  if  I  remember  right,  has  a  pretty 
face.  She  can't  have  a  better  market  for  it  than  as 


94  ARTHUR  MERVYN. 

chambermaid  to  an  inn.     If  she  minds  her  p's  and  q'a 
she  may  make  up  a  handsome  sum  at  the  year's  end." 

I  thought  it  time  to  break  off  the  conference ;  and, 
my  dinner  being  finished,  took  my  leave,  leaving  behind 
me  the  character  of  a  queer  sort  of  chap.  I  speeded  to 
the  prothonotary's  office,  which  was  kept  in  the  village, 
and  quickly  ascertained  the  truth  of  lladwin's  preten 
sions.  There  existed  a  mortgage,  with  bond  and  war 
rant  of  attorney,  to  so  great  an  amount  as  would 
swallow  up  every  thing  at  5lalverton.  Furnished  with 
these  tidings,  I  prepared,  with  a  drooping  heart,  to  re 
turn  to  Mr.  Curling's. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THIS  incident  necessarily  produced  a  change  in  my 
views  with  regard  to  my  friend.  Her  fortune  consisted 
of  a  few  hundreds  of  dollars,  which,  frugally  adminis 
tered,  might  procure  decent  accommodation  in  the 
country.  When  this  was  consumed,  she  must  find  sub 
sistence  in  tending  the  big  wheel  or  the  milk-pail,  unless 
fortune  should  enable  me  to  place  her  in  a  more  favour 
able  situation.  This  state  was,  in  some  respects,  but 
little  different  from  that  in  which  she  had  spent  the 
former  part  of  her  life ;  but,  in  her  father's  house,  these 
employments  were  dignified  by  being,  in  some  degree, 
voluntary,  and  relieved  by  frequent  intervals  of  recrea 
tion  and  leisure.  Now  they  were  likely  to  prove  irksome 
and  servile,  in  consequence  of  being  performed  for  hire 
and  imposed  by  necessity.  Equality,  parental  solici 
tudes,  and  sisterly  endearments,  would  be  wanting  to 
lighten  the  yoke. 

These  inconveniences,  however,  were  imaginary.  This 
was  the  school  in  which  fortitude  and  independence  were 
to  be  learned.  Habit,  and  the  purity  of  rural  manners, 
would,  likewise,  create  anew  those  ties  which  death  had 
dissolved.  The  affections  of  parent  and  sister  would  be 
supplied  by  the  fonder  and  more  rational  attachments  of 
friendship.  These  toils  were  not  detrimental  to  beauty 
or  health.  What  was  to  be  dreaded  from  them  was  their 
tendency  to  quench  the  spirit  of  liberal  curiosity ;  to 
habituate  the  person  to  bodily,  rather  than  intellectual, 
exertions ;  to  supersede  and  create  indifference  or  aver 
sion  to  the  only  instruments  of  rational  improvement, 
the  pen  and  the  book. 

This  evil,  however,  was  at  some  distance  from  Eliza. 

95 


g6  ARTHUR   MERVYN;    ORt 

Her  present  abode  was  quiet  and  serene.  Here  she 
might  enjoy  domestic  pleasures  and  opportunities  of 
mental  improvement  for  the  coming  twelvemonth  at 
least.  This  period  would,  perhaps,  be  sufficient  for  the 
formation  of  studious  habits.  What  schemes  should  be 
adopted  for  this  end  would  be  determined  by  the  destiny 
to  which  I  myself  should  be  reserved. 

My  path  was  already  chalked  out,  arid  my  fancy  now 
pursued  it  with  uncommon  pleasure.  To  reside  in  your 
family ;  to  study  your  profession  ;  to  pursue  some  sub 
ordinate  or  casual  mode  of  industry,  by  which  1  might 
purchase  leisure  for  medical  pursuits,  for  social  recrea 
tions,  and  for  the  study  of  mankind  on  your  busy  and 
thronged  stage,  was  the  scope  of  my  wishes.  This  des 
tiny  would  riot  hinder  punctual  correspondence  and  oc 
casional  visits  to  Eliza.  Her  pen  might  be  called  into 
action,  and  her  mind  be  awakened  by  books,  and  every 
hour  be  made  to  add  to  her  stores  of  knowledge  and 
enlarge  the  bounds  of  her  capacity. 

I  was  spiritless  and  gloomy  when  I  left ;  but  re 
flections  on  my  future  lot,  and  just  views  of  the  situation 
of  my  friend,  insensibly  restored  my  cheerfulness.  I 
arrived  at  Mr.  Curling's  in  the  evening,  and  hastened  to 
impart  to  Eliza  the  issue  of  my  commission.  It  gave 
her  uneasiness,  merely  as  it  frustrated  the  design,  on 
which  she  had  fondly  mused,  of  residing  in  the  city. 
She  was  somewhat  consoled  by  my  promises  of  being 
her  constant  correspondent  and  occasional  visitor. 

Next  morning  I  set  out  on  my  journey  hither,  on  foot. 
The  way  was  not  long ;  the  weather,  though  cold,  was 
wholesome  and  serene.  My  spirits  were  high,  and  I  saw 
nothing  in  the  world  before  me  but  sunshine  and  pros 
perity.  I  was  conscious  that  my  happiness  depended 
not  on  the  revolutions  of  nature  or  the  caprice  of  man. 
All  without  was,  indeed,  vicissitude  and  uncertainty; 
but  within  my  bosom  was  a  centre  not  to  be  shaken  or 
removed.  My  purposes  were  honest  and  steadfast. 
Every  sense  was  the  inlet  of  pleasure,  because  it  was 
the  avenue  of  knowledge ;  and  my  soul  brooded  over 
the  world  to  ideas,  and  glowed  with  exultation  at  the 
grandeur  and  beauty  of  its  own  creations. 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793-  97 

This  felicity  was  too  rapturous  to  be  of  long  duration. 
I  gradually  descended  from  these  heights ;  and  the  re 
membrance  of  past  incidents,  connected  with  the  images 
of  your  family,  to  which  I  was  returning,  led  my 
thoughts  into  a  different  channel.  Welbeck  and  the  un 
happy  girl  whom  he  had  betrayed ;  Mrs.  Villars  and 
Wallace,  were  recollected  anew.  The  views  which  I  had 
formed,  for  determining  the  fate  and  affording  assistance 
to  Clemenxa,  were  recalled.  My  former  resolutions  with 
regard  to  her  had  been  suspended  by  the  uncertainty  in 
which  the  fate  of  the  Hadwins  was,  at  that  time,  wrapped. 
Had  it  not  become  necessary  wholly  to  lay  aside  these 
resolutions? 

That,  indeed,  was  an  irksome  conclusion.  No  wonder 
that  I  struggled  to  repel  it;  that  I  fostered  the  doubt 
whether  money  was  the  only  instrument  of  benefit; 
whether  caution,  and  fortitude,  and  knowledge,  were  not 
the  genuine  preservatives  from  evil.  Had  I  not  the 
means  in  my  hands  of  dispelling  her  fatal  ignorance  of 
Welbeck  and  of  those  with  whom  she  resided  ?  Was  I 
not  authorized,  by  my  previous  though  slender  inter 
course,  to  seek  her  presence? 

Suppose  I  should  enter  Mrs.  Villars's  house,  desire  to 
be  introduced  to  the  lady,  accost  her  with  affectionate 
simplicity,  and  tell  her  the  truth  ?  Why  be  anxious  to 
smooth  the  way?  why  deal  in  apologies,  circuities,  and 
innuendoes?  All  these  are  feeble  and  perverse  refine 
ments,  unworthy  of  an  honest  purpose  and  an  erect 
spirit.  To  believe  her  inaccessible  to  my  visit  was 
absurd.  To  wait  for  the  permission  of  those  whose  in 
terest  it  might  be  to  shut  out  visitants  was  cowardice. 
This  Avas  an  infringement  of  her  liberty  which  equity 
and  law  equally  condemned.  By  what  right  could  she 
be  restrained  from  intercourse  with  others?  Doors  and 
passages  may  be  between  her  and  me.  With  a  purpose 
such  as  mine,  no  one  had  a  right  to  close  the  one  or 
obstruct  the  other.  Away  with  cowardly  reluctances 
and  clownish  scruples,  and  let  me  hasten  this  moment  to 
her  dwelling. 

Mrs.  Villars  is  the  portress  of  the  mansion.  She  will 
probably  present  herself  before  me,  and  demand  the 
1 


98  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

reason  of  my  visit.  What  shall  I  say  to  her?  The 
truth.  To  falter,  or  equivocate,  or  dissemble  to  this 
woman  would  he  wicked.  Perhaps  her  character  has 
been  misunderstood  and  maligned.  Can  I  render  her  a 
greater  service  than  to  apprize  her  of  the  aspersions 
that  have  rested  on  it,  and  aftbrd  her  the  opportunity  of 
vindication  ?  Perhaps  she  is  indeed  selfish  and  profligate ; 
the  betrayer  of  youth  and  the  agent  of  lasciviousness. 
Does  she  not  deserve  to  know  the  extent  of  her  errors 
and  the  ignominy  of  her  trade?  Does  she  not  merit  the 
compassion  of  the  good  and  the  rebukes  of  the  wise? 
To  shrink  from  the  task  would  prove  me  cowardly  and 
unfirm.  Thus  far,  at  least,  let  my  courage  extend. 

Alas !  (Jlemenza  is  unacquainted  with  my  language. 
My  thoughts  cannot  make  themselves  apparent  but  by 
words,  and  to  my  words  she  will  be  able  to  affix  no  meaning. 
Yet  is  not  that  a  hasty  decision?  The  version  from  the 
dramas  of  Zeno  which  I  found  in  her  toilet  was  probably 
hers,  and  proves  her  to  have  a  speculative  knowledge  of 
our  tongue.  Near  half  a  year  has  since  elapsed,  during 
which  she  has  dwelt  with  talkers  of  English,  and  conse 
quently  could  not  fail  to  have  acquired  it.  This  conclusion 
is  somewhat  dubious,  but  experiment  will  give  it  certainty. 

Hitherto  I  had  strolled  along  the  path  at  a  lingering 
pace.  Time  enough,  methought,  to  reach  your  threshold 
between  sunrise  and  moonlight,  if  my  way  had  been 
three  times  longer  than  it  was.  You  were  the  pleasing 
phantom  that  hovered  before  me  and  beckoned  me 
forward.  What  a  total  revolution  had  occurred  in  the 
course  of  a  few  seconds !  for  thus  long  did  my  reasonings 
with  regard  to  Clemenza  and  the  Villars  require  to  pass 
through  my  understanding,  and  escape,  in  half-muttered 
soliloquy,  from  my  lips.  My  muscles  trembled  with 
eagerness,  and  I  bounded  forward  with  impetuosity.  I 
saw  nothing  but  a  vista  of  catalpaa,  leafless,  loaded  with 
icicles,  and  terminating  in  four  chimneys  and  a  painted 
roof.  My  fancy  outstripped  my  footsteps,  and  was  busy 
in  picturing  faces  and  rehearsing  dialogues.  Presently 
I  reached  this  new  object  of  my  pursuit,  darted  through 
the  avenue,  noticed  that  some  windows  of  the  house  were 
unclosed,  drew  thence  a  hasty  inference  that  the  house 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  /7?J.  99 

was  not  without  inhabitants,  and  knocked,  quickly  and 
loudly,  for  admission. 

Some  one  within  crept  to  the  door,  opened  it  with 
seeming  caution,  and  just  far  enough  to  allow  the  face  to 
be  seen.  It  was  the  timid,  pale,  and  unwashed  face  of 
a  girl  who  was  readily  supposed  to  be  a  servant,  taken 
from  a  cottage,  and  turned  into  a  bringer  of  wood  and 
water  and  a  scourer  of  tubs  and  trenches.  She  waited  in 
timorous  silence  the  delivery  of  my  message.  Was  Mrs. 
Villars  at  home? 

"No;  she  has  gone  to  town." 

Were  any  of  her  daughters  within? 

She  could  not  tell ;  she  believed — she  thought — which 
did  I  want  ?  Miss  Hetty  or  Miss  Sally  ? 

"Let  me  see  Miss  Hetty."  Saying  this,  I  pushed 
gently  against  the  door.  The  girl,  half  reluctant,  yielded 
way ;  I  entered  the  passage,  and,  putting  my  hand  on 
the  lock  of  a  door  that  seemed  to  lead  into  a  parlour, — 
"Is  Miss  Hetty  in  this  room?" 

No;  there  was  nobody  there. 

"  Go  call  her,  then.  Tell  her  there  is  one  who  wishes 
to  see  her  on  important  business.  I  will  wait  for  her 
coming  in  this  room."  So  saying,  I  opened  the  door, 
and  entered  the  apartment,  while  the  girl  withdrew  to 
perform  my  message. 

The  parlour  was  spacious  and  expensively  furnished, 
but  an  air  of  negligence  and  disorder  was  everywhere 
visible.  The  carpet  was  wrinkled  and  unswcpt;  a  clock 
on  the  table,  in  a  glass  frame,  so  streaked  and  spotted 
with  dust  as  scarcely  to  be  transparent,  and  the  index 
motionless,  and  pointing  at  four  instead  of  nine ;  embers 
scattered  on  the  marble  hearth,  and  tongs  lying  on  the 
fender  with  the  handle  in  the  ashes;  a  harpsichord,  un 
covered,  one  end  loaded  with  scores,  tumbled  together  in 
a  heap,  and  the  other  with  volumes  of  novels  and  plays, 
some  on  their  edges,  some  on  their  backs,  gaping  open 
by  the  scorching  of  their  covers;  rent;  blurred;  stained; 
blotted;  dog-eared;  tables  awry;  chairs  crowding  each 
other;  in  short,  no  object  but  indicated  the  neglect  or 
the  ignorance  of  domestic  neatness  and  economy. 

My  leisure  was  employed  in  surveying  these  objects, 


100  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

and  in  listening  for  the  approach  of  Miss  Hetty.  Some 
minutes  elapsed,  and  no  one  came.  A  reason  for  delay 
was  easily  imagined,  and  I  summoned  patience  to  wait. 
I  opened  a  book ;  touched  the  instrument ;  surveyed  the 
vases  on  the  mantel-tree;  the  figures  on  the  hangings, 
and  the  print  of  Apollo  and  the  Sibyl,  taken  from  Sal- 
vator,  and  hung  over  the  chimney.  I  eyed  my  own 
shape  and  garb  in  the  mirror,  and  asked  how  my  rustic 
appearance  would  be  regarded  by  that  supercilious  and 
voluptuous  being  to  whom  I  was  about  to  present 
myself. 

Presently  the  latch  of  the  door  was  softly  moved:  it 
opened,  and  the  simpleton,  before  described,  appeared. 
She  spoke,  but  her  voice  was  so  full  of  hesitation,  and 
BO  near  a  whisper,  that  much  attention  was  needed  to 
make  out  her  words: — Miss  Hetty  was  not  at  home;  she 
was  gone  to  town  with  her  mistress, 

This  was  a  tale  not  to  be  credited.  How  was  I  to 
act?  She  persisted  in  maintaining  the  truth  of  it. — 
"Well,  then,"  said  I,  at  length,  "tell  Miss  Sally  that  I 
wish  to  speak  with  her.  She  will  answer  my  purpose 
just  as  well." 

Miss  Sally  was  not  at  home  neither.  She  had  gone 
to  town  too.  They  would  not  be  back,  she  did  not  know 
when ;  not  till  night,  she  supposed.  It  was  so  indeed ; 
none  of  them  wasn't  at  home ;  none  but  she  and  Nanny 
in  the  kitchen :  indeed  there  wasn't. 

"  Go  tell  Nanny  to  come  here ;  I  will  leave  my  message 
with  her."  She  withdrew,  but  Nanny  did  not  receive 
the  summons,  or  thought  proper  not  to  obey  it.  All  was 
vacant  and  still. 

My  state  was  singular  and  critical.  It  was  absurd  to 
prolong  it;  but  to  leave  the  house  with  my  errand  un 
executed  would  argue  imbecility  and  folly.  To  ascertain 
Clemenza's  presence  in  this  house,  and  to  gain  an  inter 
view,  were  yet  in  my  power.  Had  I  not  boasted  of  my 
intrepidity  in  braving  denials  and  commands  when  they 
endeavoured  to  obstruct  my  passage  to  this  woman  ?  But 
here  were  no  obstacles  nor  prohibition.  Suppose  the 
girl  had  said  truth,  that  the  matron  and  her  daughters 
were  absent,  und  that  Nauny  and  herself  were  the  only 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  IOI 

guardians  of  the  mansion.  So  much  the  better.  My 
design  will  not  be  opposed.  I  have  only  to  mount  the 
stair,  and  go  from  one  room  to  another  till  I  find  what 
I  seek. 

There  was  hazard,  as  well  as  plausibility,  in  this 
scheme.  I  thought  it  best  once  more  to  endeavour  to 
extort  information  from  the  girl,  and  persuade  her  to  be 
my  guide  to  whomsoever  the  house  contained.  I  put 
my  hand  to  the  bell  and  rung  a  brisk  peal.  No  one 
came.  I  passed  into  the  entry,  to  the  foot  of  a  stair 
case,  and  to  a  back-window.  Nobody  Avas  within  hear 
ing  or  sight. 

Once  more  I  reflected  on  the  rectitude  of  my  inten 
tions,  on  the  possibility  that  the  girl's  assertions  might 
be  true,  on  the  benefits  of  expedition,  and  of  gaining 
access  to  the  object  of  my  visit  without  interruption  or 
delay.  To  these  considerations  was  added  a  sort  of 
charm,  not  easily  explained,  and  by  no  means  justifiable, 
produced  by  the  very  temerity  and  hazardness  accom 
panying  this  attempt.  I  thought,  with  scornful  emotions, 
on  the  bars  and  hindcranccs  which  pride,  arid  caprice, 
and  delusive  maxims  of  decorum,  raise  in  the  way  of 
human  intercourse.  I  spurned  at  these  semblances  and 
substitutes  of  honesty,  and  delighted  to  shake  such  fet 
ters  into  air  and  trample  such  impediments  to  dust.  I 
wanted  to  see  a  human  being,  in  order  to  promote  her 
happiness.  It  was  doubtful  whether  she  was  within 
twenty  paces  of  the  spot  where  I  stood.  The  doubt 
was  to  be  solved.  How  ?  By  examining  the  space.  I 
forthwith  proceeded  to  examine  it.  I  reached  the  second 
story.  I  approached  a  door  that  was  closed.  I  knocked. 
After  a  pause,  a  soft  voice  said,  "Who  is  there?" 

The  accents  were  as  musical  as  those  of  Clemenza, 
but  were  in  other  respects  different.  I  had  no  topic  to 
discuss  with  this  person.  I  answered  not,  yet  hesitated 
to  withdraw.  Presently  the  same  voice  was  again 
heard: — "What  is  it  you  want?  Why  don't  you 
answer?  Come  in!"  I  complied  with  the  command, 
and  entered  the  room. 

It  was  deliberation  and  foresight  that  led  me  hither, 
and  not  chance  or  caprice.  Hence,  instead  of  being 


IO2  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

disconcerted  or  vanquished  by  the  objects  that  I  saw,  I 
was  tranquil  and  firm.  My  curiosity,  however,  made 
me  a  vigilant  observer.  Two  females,  arrayed  with 
voluptuous  negligence,  in  a  manner  adapted  to  the 
utmost  seclusion,  and  seated  in  a  careless  attitude  on  a 
sofa,  were  now  discovered. 

Both  darted  glances  at  the  door.  One,  who  appeared 
to  be  the  youngest,  no  sooner  saw  me,  than  she  shrieked, 
and,  starting  from  her  seat,  betrayed  in  the  looks  which 
she  successively  cast  upon  me,  on  herself,  and  on  the 
chamber,  whose  apparatus  was  in  no  less  confusion  than 
that  of  the  apartment  below,  her  consciousness  of  the 
unseasonablcness  of  this  meeting. 

The  other  shrieked  likewise,  but  in  her  it  seemed  to 
be  the  token  of  surprise  rather  than  that  of  terror. 
There  was,  probably,  somewhat  in  my  aspect  and  garb 
that  suggested  an  apology  for  this  intrusion,  as  arising 
from  simplicity  and  mistake.  She  thought  proper,  how 
ever,  to  assume  the  air  of  one  offended,  and,  looking 
sternly, — "How  now,  fellow,"  said  she,  "what  is  this? 
Why  come  you  hither?" 

This  questioner  was  of  mature  age,  but  had  not  passed 
the  period  of  attractiveness  and  grace.  All  the  beauty 
that  nature  had  bestowed  was  still  retained,  but  the  por 
tion  had  never  been  great.  What  she  possessed  was  so 
modelled  and  embellished  by  such  a  carriage  and  dress 
as  to  give  it  most  power  over  the  senses  of  the  gazer. 
In  proportion,  however,  as  it  was  intended  and  adapted 
to  captivate  those  who  know  none  but  physical  pleasures, 
it  was  qualified  to  breed  distaste  and  aversion  in  me. 

I  am  sensible  how  much  error  may  have  lurked  in  this 
decision.  I  had  brought  with  me  the  belief  of  their 
being  unchaste;  and  seized,  perhaps  with  too  much 
avidity,  any  appearance  that  coincided  with  my  prepos 
sessions.  Yet  the  younger  by  no  means  inspired  the 
same  disgust;  though  I  had  no  reason  to  suppose  her 
more  unblemished  than  the  elder.  Her  modesty  seemed 
unaffected,  and  was  by  no  means  satisfied,  like  that  of 
the  elder,  with  defeating  future  curiosity.  The  con 
sciousness  of  what  had  already  been  exposed  filled  her 
with  confusion,  and  she  would  have  flown  away,  if  her 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  1 03 

companion  had  not  detained  her  by  some  degree  of  force. 
"  What  ails  the  girl  ?  There's  nothing  to  be  frightened 
at.  Fellow!"  she  repeated,  "what  brings  you  here?" 

I  advanced  and  stood  before  them.  I  looked  stead 
fastly,  but,  I  believe,  with  neither  effrontery  nor  anger, 
on  the  one  who  addressed  me.  I  spoke  in  a  tone  serious 
and  emphatical.  "I  come  for  the  sake  of  speaking  to  a 
woman  who  formerly  resided  in  this  house,  and  probably 
resides  here  still.  Her  name  is  Clemenza  Lodi.  If  she 
be  here,  I  request  you  to  conduct  me  to  her  instantly." 

Methought  I  perceived  some  inquietude,  a  less  impe 
rious  and  more  inquisitive  air,  in  this  woman,  on  hearing 
the  name  of  Clemenza.  It  was  momentary,  and  gave 
way  to  peremptory  looks.  "What  is  your  business  with 
her  ?  And  why  did  you  adopt  this  mode  of  inquiry  ?  A 
very  extraordinary  intrusion !  Be  good  enough  to  leave 
the  chamber.  Any  questions  proper  to  be  answered 
will  be  answered  below." 

"I  meant  not  to  intrude  or  offend.  It  was  not  an 
idle  or  impertinent  motive  that  led  me  hither.  I  waited 
below  for  some  time  after  soliciting  an  audience  of  you 
through  the  servant.  She  assured  me  you  were  absent, 
and  laid  me  under  the  necessity  of  searching  for  Cle 
menza  Lodi  myself,  and  without  a  guide.  I  am  anxious 
to  withdraw,  and  request  merely  to  be  directed  to  the 
room  which  she  occupies." 

"I  direct  you,"  replied  she,  in  a  more  resolute  tone, 
"to  quit  the  room  and  the  house." 

"Impossible,  madam,"  I  replied,  still  looking  at  her 
earnestly ;  "  leave  the  house  without  seeing  her !  You 
might  as  well  enjoin  me  to  pull  the  Andes  on  my  head ! 
— to  walk  barefoot  to  Pekin!  Impossible!" 

Some  solicitude  was  now  mingled  with  her  anger. 
"This  is  strange  insolence!  unaccountable  behaviour! — 
begone  from  my  room !  will  you  compel  me  to  call  the 
gentlemen  ?" 

"Be  not  alarmed,"  said  I,  with  augmented  mildness. 
There  was,  indeed,  compassion  and  sorrow  at  my  heart, 
and  these  must  have  somewhat  influenced  my  looks. 
"  Be  not  alarmed.  I  came  to  confer  a  benefit,  not  to 
perpetrate  an  injury.  I  came  not  to  censure  or  ex- 


104  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

postulate  with  you,  but  merely  to  counsel  and  aid  a 
being  that  needs  both;  all  I  want  is  to  see  her.  In  this 
chamber  I  sought  not  you,  but  her.  Only  lead  me  to 
her,  or  tell  me  where  she  is.  I  will  then  rid  you  of  my 
presence." 

"Will  you  compel  me  to  call  those  who  will  punish 
this  insolence  as  it  deserves?" 

"Dearest  madam!  I  compel  you  to  nothing.  I 
merely  supplicate.  I  would  ask  you  to  lead  me  to  these 
gentlemen,  if  I  did  not  know  that  there  are  none  but 
females  in  the  house.  It  is  you  who  must  receive  and 
comply  with  my  petition.  Allow  me  a  moment's  inter 
view  with  Clemenza  Lodi.  Compliance  will  harm  you 
not,  but  will  benefit  her.  What  is  your  objection  ?" 

"  This  is  the  strangest  proceeding  !  the  most  singular 
conduct!  Is  this  a  place  fit  to  parley  with  you?  I 
warn  you  of  the  consequence  of  staying  a  moment 
longer.  Depend  upon  it,  you  will  sorely  repent  it." 

"  You  are  obdurate,"  said  I,  and  turned  towards  the 
younger,  who  listened  to  this  discourse  in  tremors  and 
panic.  I  took  her  hand  with  an  air  of  humility  and 
reverence.  "Here,"  said  I,  "there  seems  to  be  purity, 
innocence,  and  condescension.  I  took  this  house  to  be 
the  temple  of  voluptuousness.  Females  I  expected  to 
find  in  it,  but  such  only  as  traded  in  licentious  pleasures ; 
specious,  perhaps  not  destitute  of  talents,  beauty,  and 
address,  but  dissolute  and  wanton,  sensual  and  avari 
cious;  yet  in  this  countenance  and  carriage  there  are 
tokens  of  virtue.  I  am  born  to  be  deceived,  and  the 
semblance  of  modesty  is  readily  assumed.  Under  this 
veil,  perhaps,  lurk  a  tainted  heart  and  depraved  appe 
tites.  Is  it  so?" 

She  made  me  no  answer,  but  somewhat  in  her  looks 
seemed  to  evince  that  my  favourable  prepossessions  were 
just.  I  noticed  likewise  that  the  alarm  of  the  elder  was 
greatly  increased  by  this  address  to  her  companion.  The 
thought  suddenly  occurred  that  this  girl  might  be  in  cir 
cumstances  not  unlike  those  of  Clemenza  Lodi;  that  she 
was  not  apprized  of  the  character  of  her  associates,  and 
might  by  this  meeting  be  rescued  from  similar  evils. 

This    suspicion    filled    me   with    tumultuous    feelings. 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  179J-  IO$ 

Clemenza  was  for  a  time  forgotten.  I  paid  no  attention 
to  the  looks  or  demeanour  of  the  elder,  but  was  wholly 
occupied  in  gazing  on  the  younger.  My  anxiety  to 
know  the  truth  gave  pathos  and  energy  to  my  tones 
while  I  spoke : — 

"Who,  where,  what  are  you?  Do  you  reside  in  this 
house  ?  Are  you  a  sister  or  daughter  in  this  family,  or 
merely  a  visitant?  Do  you  know  the  character,  pro 
fession,  and  views  of  your  companions?  Do  you  deem 
them  virtuous,  or  know  them  to  be  profligate  ?  Speak  ! 
tell  me,  I  beseech  you  !" 

The  maiden  confusion  which  had  just  appeared  in  the 
countenance  of  this  person  now  somewhat  abated.  She 
lifted  her  eyes,  and  glanced  by  turns  at  me  and  at  her 
who  sat  by  her  side.  An  air  of  serious  astonishment 
overspread  her  features,  and  she  seemed  anxious  for  me 
to  proceed.  The  elder,  meanwhile,  betrayed  the  utmost 
alarm,  again  upbraided  my  audacity,  commanded  me  to 
withdraw,  and  admonished  me  of  the  danger  I  incurred 
by  lingering. 

I  noticed  not  her  interference,  but  again  entreated  to 
know  of  the  younger  her  true  state.  She  had  no  time 
to  answer  me,  supposing  her  not  to  want  the  inclination, 
for  every  pause  was  filled  by  the  clamorous  importunities 
and  menaces  of  the  other.  I  began  to  perceive  that  my 
attempts  were  useless  to  this  end,  but  the  chief  and  most 
estimable  purpose  was  attainable.  It  was  in  my  power 
to  state  the  knowledge  I  possessed,  through  your  means, 
of  Mrs.  Villars  and  her  daughters.  This  information 
might  be  superfluous,  since  she  to  whom  it  was  given 
might  be  one  of  this  licentious  family.  The  contrary, 
however,  was  not  improbable,  and  my  tidings,  therefore, 
might  be  of  the  utmost  moment  to  her  safety. 

A  resolute  and  even  impetuous  manner  reduced  my  in 
cessant  interrupter  to  silence.  What  I  had  to  say,  I  com 
pressed  in  a  few  words,  and  adhered  to  perspicuity  and 
candour  with  the  utmost  care.  I  still  held  the  hand  that  I 
had  taken,  and  fixed  my  eyes  upon  her  countenance  with 
a  steadfastness  that  hindered  her  from  lifting  her  eyes. 

"  I  know  you  not ;  whether  you  be  dissolute  or  chaste, 
J  cannot  tell.  In  either  case,  however,  what  I  am  going 


106  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

to  say  will  be  useful.  Let  me  faithfully  repent  what  I 
have  heard.  It  is  mere  rumour,  and  I  vouch  not  for  its 
truth.  Rumour  as  it  is,  I  submit  it  to  your  judgment, 
and  hope  that  it  may  guide  you  into  paths  of  innocence 
and  honour. 

"Mrs.  Villars  and  her  three  daughters  are  English 
women,  who  supported  for  a  time  an  unblemished  reputa 
tion,  but  who,  at  length,  were  suspected  of  carrying  on 
the  trade  of  prostitution.  This  secret  could  not  be  con 
cealed  forever.  The  profligates  who  frequented  their 
house  betrayed  them.  One  of  them,  who  died  under 
their  roof,  after  they  had  withdrawn  from  it  into  the 
country,  disclosed  to  his  kinsman,  who  attended  his 
death-bed,  their  genuine  character. 

"  The  dying  man  likewise  related  incidents  in  which  I 
am  deeply  concerned.  I  have  been  connected  with  one 
by  name  Welbeck.  In  his  house  I  met  an  unfortunate 
girl,  who  was  afterwards  removed  to  Mrs.  Villars's.  Her 
name  was  Clemenza  Lodi.  Residence  in  this  house,  under 
the  control  of  a  woman  like  Mrs.  Villars  and  her  daugh 
ters,  must  be  injurious  to  her  innocence, 'and  from  this 
control  I  now  come  to  rescue  her." 

I  turned  to  the  elder,  and  continued, — "  By  all  that 
is  sacred,  I  adjure  you  to  tell  me  whether  Clemenza  Lodi 
be  under  this  roof!  If  she  be  not,  whither  has  she  gone  ? 
To  know  this  I  came  hither,  and  any  difficulty  or  reluct 
ance  in  answering  will  be  useless ;  till  an  answer  be  ob 
tained,  I  will  not  go  hence." 

During  this  speech,  anger  had  been  kindling  in  the 
bosom  of  this  woman.  It  now  burst  upon  me  in  a  tor 
rent  of  opprobrious  epithets.  I  was  a  villain,  a  calum 
niator,  a  thief.  I  had  lurked  about  the  house,  till  those 
whose  sex  and  strength  enabled  them  to  cope  with  me 
had  gone.  I  had  entered  these  doors  by  fraud.  I  was  a 
wretch,  guilty  of  the  last  excesses  of  insolence  and  insult. 

To  repel  these  reproaches,  or  endure  them,  was  equally 
useless.  The  satisfaction  that  I  sought  was  only  to  be 
gained  by  searching  the  house.  I  left  the  room  without 
speaking.  Did  I  act  illegally  in  passing  from  one  story 
and  one  room  to  another?  Did  1  really  deserve  the  im 
putations  of  rashness  and  insolence  ?  My  behaviour,  I 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  IO/ 

well  know,  was  ambiguous  and  hazardous,  and  perhaps 
wanting  in  discretion,  but  my  motives  were  unques 
tionably  pure.  I  aimed  at  nothing  but  the  rescue  of  a 
human  creature  from  distress  and  dishonour. 

I  pretend  not  to  the  wisdom  of  experience  and  age ;  to 
the  praise  of  forethought  or  subtlety.  I  choose  the  ob 
vious  path,  and  pursue  it  with  headlong  expedition.  Good 
intentions,  unaided  by  knowledge,  will,  perhaps,  produce 
more  injury  than  benefit,  and  therefore  knowledge  must 
be  gained,  but  the  acquisition  is  not  momentary;  is  not 
bestowed  unasked  and  untoiled  for.  Meanwhile,  we  must 
not  be  inactive  because  we  are  ignorant.  Our  good  pur 
poses  must  hurry  to  performance,  whether  our  know 
ledge  be  greater  or  less. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

To  explore  the  house  in  this  manner  was  so  contrary 
to  ordinary  rules,  that  the  design  was  probably  wholly 
unsuspected  by  the  women  whom  I  had  just  left.  My 
silence,  at  parting,  might  have  been  ascribed  by  them  to 
the  intimidating  influence  of  invectives  and  threats. 
Hence  I  proceeded  in  my  search  without  interruption. 

Presently  I  reached  a  front  chamber  in  the  third  story. 
The  door  was  ajar.  I  entered  it  on  tiptoe.  Sitting  on 
a  low  chair  by  the  fire,  I  beheld  a  female  figure,  dressed 
in  a  negligent  but  not  indecent  manner.  Her  face,  in 
the  posture  in  which  she  sat,  was  only  half  seen.  Its 
hues  were  sickly  and  pale,  and  in  mournful  unison  with 
a  feeble  and  emaciated  form.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
a  babe  that  lay  stretched  upon  a  pillow  at  her  feet.  The 
child,  like  its  mother,  for  such  she  was  readily  imagined 
to  be,  was  meagre  and  cadaverous.  Either  it  was  dead, 
or  could  not  be  very  distant  from  death. 

The  features  of  Clemenza  were  easily  recognised, 
though  no  contrast  could  be  greater,  in  habit  and  shape 
and  complexion,  than  that  which  her  present  bore  to  her 
former  appearance.  All  her  roses  had  faded,  and  her 
brilliancies  vanished.  Still,  however,  there  was  somewhat 
fitted  to  awaken  the  tenderest  emotions.  There  were 
tokens  of  inconsolable  distress. 

Her  attention  was  wholly  absorbed  by  the  child.  She 
lifted  not  her  eyes  till  I  came  close  to  her  and  stood 
before  her.  When  she  discovered  me,  a  faint  start  was 
perceived.  She  looked  at  me  for  a  moment,  then,  putting 
one  spread  hand  before  her  eyes,  she  stretched  out  the 
other  towards  the  door,  and  waving  it  in  silence,  as  if  to 
admonish  me  to  depart. 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  1 09 

This  motion,  however  emphatical,  I  could  not  obey. 
I  wished  to  obtain  her  attention,  but  knew  not  in  what 
words  to  claim  it.  I  was  silent.  In  a  moment  she  re 
moved  her  hand  from  her  eyes,  and  looked  at  me  with 
new  eagerness.  Her  features  bespoke  emotions  which, 
perhaps,  flowed  from  my  likeness  to  her  brother,  joined 
with  the  memory  of  my  connection  with  Welbeck. 

My  situation  was  full  of  embarrassment.  I  was  by 
no  means  certain  that  my  language  would  be  understood. 
I  knew  not  in  what  light  the  policy  and  dissimulation  of 
Welbeck  might  have  taught  her  to  regard  me.  What 
proposal,  conducive  to  her  comfort  and  her  safety,  could 
I  make  to  her? 

Once  more  she  covered  her  eyes,  and  exclaimed,  in  a 
feeble  voice,  "Go  away!  begone!" 

As  if  satisfied  with  this  effort,  she  resumed  her  atten 
tion  to  her  child.  She  stooped  and  lifted  it  in  her  arms, 
gazing,  meanwhile,  on  its  almost  lifeless  features  with 
intense  anxiety.  She  crushed  it  to  her  bosom,  and, 
again  looking  at  me,  repeated,  "Go  away!  go  away! 
begone !" 

There  was  somewhat  in  the  lines  of  her  face,  in  her 
tones  and  gestures,  that  pierced  to  my  heart.  Added  to 
this,  was  my  knowledge  of  her  condition ;  her  friendless- 
ness  ;  her  poverty ;  the  pangs  of  unrequited  love ;  and 
her  expiring  infant.  I  felt  my  utterance  choked,  and 
my  tears  struggling  for  passage.  I  turned  to  the  win 
dow,  and  endeavoured  to  regain  my  tranquillity. 

"  What  was  it,"  said  I,  "  that  brought  me  hither?  The 
perfidy  of  Welbeck  must  surely  have  long  since  been  dis 
covered.  What  can  I  tell  her  of  the  Villars  which  she 
does  not  already  know,  or  of  which  the  knowledge  will 
be  useful  ?  If  their  treatment  has  been  just,  why  should 
I  detract  from  their  merit  ?  If  it  has  been  otherwise, 
their  own  conduct  will  have  disclosed  their  genuine  cha 
racter.  Though  voluptuous  themselves,  it  does  not  follow 
that  they  have  laboured  to  debase  this  creature.  Though 
wanton,  they  may  not  be  inhuman. 

"  I  can  propose  no  change  in  her  condition  for  the 
better.  Should  she  be  willing  to  leave  this  house,  whither 
is  it  in  my  power  to  conduct  her?  Oh  that  I  were  rich 


HO  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

enough  to  provide  food  for  the  hungry,  shelter  for  the 
houseless,  and  raiment  for  the  naked!" 

I  was  roused  from  these  fruitless  reflections  by  the 
lady,  whom  some  sudden  thought  induced  to  place  the 
child  in  its  bed,  and,  rising,  to  come  towards  me.  The 
utter  dejection  which  her  features  lately  betrayed  was 
now  changed  for  an  air  of  anxious  curiosity.  "  Where," 
said  she,  in  her  broken  English, — "  where  is  Signor 
Welbeck  ?" 

"Alas!"  returned  I,  "I  know  not.  That  question 
might,  I  thought,  with  more  propriety  be  put  to  you 
than  me." 

"I  know  where  he  be ;  I  fear  where  he  be." 

So  saying,  the  deepest  sighs  burst  from  her  heart. 
She  turned  from  me,  and,  going  to  the  child,  took  it 
again  into  her  lap.  Its  pale  and  sunken  cheek  was 
quickly  wet  with  the  mother's  tears,  which,  as  she 
silently  hung  over  it,  dropped  fast  from  her  eyes. 

This  demeanour  could  not  but  awaken  curiosity,  while 
it  gave  a  new  turn  to  my  thoughts.  I  began  to  suspect 
that  in  the  tokens  which  I  saw  there  was  not  only  dis 
tress  for  her  child,  but  concern  for  the  fate  of  Welbeck. 
"Know  you,"  said  I,  "where  Mr.  Welbeck  is?  Is  he 
alive  ?  Is  he  near  ?  Is  he  in  calamity  ?" 

"I  do  not  know  if  he  be  alive.  He  be  sick.  He  be 
in  prison.  They  will  not  let  me  go  to  him.  And" — 
here  her  attention  and  mine  was  attracted  by  the  infant, 
whose  frame,  till  now  motionless,  began  to  be  tremulous. 
Its  features  sunk  into  a  more  ghastly  expression.  Its 
breathings  were  difficult,  and  every  effort  to  respire  pro 
duced  a  convulsion  harder  than  the  last. 

The  mother  easily  interpreted  these  tokens.  The 
same  mortal  struggle  seemed  to  take  place  in  her  fea 
tures  as  in  those  of  her  child.  At  length  her  agony 
found  way  in  a  piercing  shriek.  The  struggle  in  the 
infant  was  past.  Hope  looked  in  vain  for  a  new  motion 
in  its  heart  or  its  eyelids.  The  lips  were  closed,  and  its 
breath  was  gone  forever  ! 

The  grief  which  overwhelmed  the  unhappy  parent  was 
of  that  outrageous  and  desperate  kind  which  is  wholly 
incompatible  with  thinking.  A  few  incoherent  motions 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  i?93-  HI 

and  screams,  that  rent  the  soul,  were  followed  by  a  deep 
swoon.  She  sunk  upon  the  floor,  pale  and  lifeless  as 
her  babe. 

I  need  not  describe  the  pangs  which  such  a  scene  was 
adapted  to  produce  in  me.  These  were  rendered  more 
acute  by  the  helpless  and  ambiguous  situation  in  which 
I  was  placed.  I  was  eager  to  bestow  consolation  and 
succour,  but  was  destitute  of  all  means.  I  was  plunged 
into  uncertainties  and  doubts.  I  gazed  alternately  at 
the  infant  and  its  mother.  I  sighed.  I  wept.  I  even 
sobbed.  I  stooped  down  and  took  the  lifeless  hand  of 
the  sufferer.  I  bathed  it  with  my  tears,  and  exclaimed, 
"  Ill-fated  woman  !  unhappy  mother !  what  shall  I  do 
for  thy  relief?  How  shall  I  blunt  the  edge  of  this  cala 
mity,  arid  rescue  thee  from  new  evils?" 

At  this  moment  the  door  of  the  apartment  was  opened, 
and  the  younger  of  the  women  whom  I  had  seen  below 
entered.  Her  looks  betrayed  the  deepest  consternation 
and  anxiety.  Her  eyes  in  a  moment  were  fixed  by  the 
decayed  form  and  the  sad  features  of  Clemenza.  She 
shuddered  at  this  spectacle,  but  was  silent.  She  stood 
in  the  midst  of  the  floor,  fluctuating  and  bewildered.  I 
dropped  the  hand  that  I  was  holding,  and  approached  her. 

"You  have  come,"  said  I,  "in  good  season.  I  know 
you  not,  but  will  believe  you  to  be  good.  You  have  a 
heart,  it  may  be,  not  free  from  corruption,  but  it  is  still 
capable  of  pity  for  the  miseries  of  others.  You  have  a 
hand  that  refuses  not  its  aid  to  the  unhappy.  See ; 
there  is  an  infant  dead.  There  is  a  mother  whom  grief 
has,  for  a  time,  deprived  of  life.  She  has  been  oppressed 
and  betrayed ;  been  robbed  of  property  and  reputation 
— but  not  of  innocence.  She  is  worthy  of  relief.  Have 
you  arms  to  receive  her  ?  Have  you  sympathy,  protec 
tion,  and  a  home  to  bestow  upon  a  forlorn,  betrayed, 
and  unhappy  stranger  ?  I  know  not  what  this  house  is ; 
I  suspect  it  to  be  no  better  than  a  brothel.  I  know  not 
what  treatment  this  woman  has  received.  When  her 
situation  and  wants  are  ascertained,  will  you  supply  her 
wants  ?  Will  you  rescue  her  from  evils  that  may  attend 
her  continuance  here?" 

She  was  disconcerted  and  bewildered  by  this  address. 


112  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

At  length  she  said,  "All  that  has  happened,  all  that  1 
have  heard  and  seen,  is  so  unexpected,  so  strange,  that 
I  am  amazed  and  distracted.  Your  behaviour  I  cannot 
comprehend,  nor  your  motive  for  making  this  address  to 
me.  I  cannot  answer  you,  except  in  one  respect.  If 
this  woman  has  suffered  injury,  I  have  had  no  part  in  it. 
I  knew  not  of  her  existence  nor  her  situation  till  this  mo 
ment  ;  and  whatever  protection  or  assistance  she  may 
justly  claim,  I  am  both  able  and  willing  to  bestow.  I 
do  not  live  here,  but  in  the  city.  I  am  only  an  occa 
sional  visitant  in  this  house." 

"What,  then  !"  I  exclaimed,  with  sparkling  eyes  and 
a  rapturous  accent,  "you  are  not  profligate  ;  are  a 
stranger  to  the  manners  of  this  house,  and  a  detester 
of  these  manners  ?  Be  not  a  deceiver,  I  entreat  you.  I 
depend  only  on  your  looks  and  professions,  and  these 
may  be  dissembled." 

These  questions,  which  indeed  argued  a  childish  sim 
plicity,  excited  her  surprise.  She  looked  at  me,  uncer 
tain  whether  I  was  in  earnest  or  in  jest.  At  length  she 
said,  "  Your  language  is  so  singular,  that  I  am  at  a  loss 
how  to  answer  it.  I  shall  take  no  pains  to  find  out  its 
meaning,  but  leave  you  to  form  conjectures  at  leisure. 
Who  is  this  woman,  and  how  can  I  serve  her?"  After 
a  pause,  she  continued: — "I  cannot  afford  her  any  im 
mediate  assistance,  and  shall  not  stay  a  moment  longer 
in  this  house.  There"  (putting  a  card  in  my  hand)  "is 
my  name  and  place  of  abode.  If  you  shall  have  any 
proposals  to  make,  respecting  this  woman,  I  shall  be 
ready  to  receive  them  in  my  own  house."  So  saying, 
she  withdrew. 

I  looked  wistfully  after  her,  but  could  not  but  assent 
to  her  assertion,  that  her  presence  here  would  be  more 
injurious  to  her  than  beneficial  to  Clemenza.  She  had 
scarcely  gone,  when  the  elder  woman  entered.  There 
was  rage,  sullenness,  and  disappointment  in  her  aspect. 
These,  however,  were  suspended  by  the  situation  in 
which  she  discovered  the  mother  and  child.  It  waa 
plain  that  all  the  sentiments  of  woman  were  not  extin 
guished  in  her  heart.  She  summoned  the  servants  and 
seemed  preparing  to  take  such  measures  as  the  occasion 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  /7?J.  113 

prescribed.  I  now  saw  the  folly  of  supposing  that  these 
measures  would  be  neglected,  and  that  my  presence 
could  not  essentially  contribute  to  the  benefit  of  the 
sufferer.  Still,  however,  I  lingered  in  the  room,  till  the 
infant  was  covered  with  a  cloth,  and  the  still  senseless 
parent  was  conveyed  into  an  adjoining  chamber.  The 
woman  then,  as  if  she  had  not  seen  me  before,  fixed 
scowling  eyes  upon  me,  and  exclaimed,  "Thief!  villain! 
why  do  you  stay  here '(" 

"I  mean  to  go,"  said  I,  "but  not  till  I  express  my 
gratitude  arid  pleasure  at  the  sight  of  your  attention  to 
this  sufferer.  You  deem  me  insolent  and  perverse,  but 
I  am  not  such  ;  and  hope  that  the  day  will  come  .when  I 
shall  convince  you  of  my  good  intentions." 

"Begone!"  interrupted  she,  in  a  more  angry  tone. 
"Begone  this  moment,  or  I  will  treat  you  as  a  thief." 
She  now  drew  forth  her  hand  from  under  her  gown, 
and  showed  a  pistol.  "You  shall  see,"  she  continued, 
"that  I  will  not  be  insulted  with  impunity.  If  you  do 
not  vanish,  I  will  shoot  you  as  a  robber." 

This  woman  was  far  from  wanting  a  force  and  in 
trepidity  worthy  of  a  different  sex.  Her  gestures  and 
tones  were  full  of  energy.  They  denoted  a  haughty  and 
indignant  spirit.  It  was  plain  that  she  conceived  her 
self  deeply  injured  by  my  conduct ;  and  was  it  abso 
lutely  certain  that  her  anger  was  without  reason  ?  I 
had  loaded  her  house  with  atrocious  imputations,  and 
these  imputations  might  be  false.  I  had  conceived  them 
upon  such  evidence  as  chance  had  provided ;  but  this 
evidence,  intricate  and  dubious  as  human  actions  and 
motives  are,  might  be  void  of  truth. 

"Perhaps,"  said  I,  in  a  sedate  tone,  "I  have  injured 
you;  I  have  mistaken  your  character.  You  shall  n<t 
find  me  less  ready  to  repair,  than  to  perpetrate,  this  in 
jury.  My  error  was  without  malice,  and " 

1  had  not  time  to  finish  the  sentence,  when  this  rash 
and  enraged  woman  thrust  the  pistol  close  to  my  head 
and  fired  it.  I  was  wholly  unaware  that  her  fury  would 
lead  her  to  this  excess.  It  was  a  sort  of  mechanical  im 
pulse  that  made  me  raise  my  hand  and  attempt  to  turn 


114  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

aside  the  weapon.  I  did  this  deliberately  and  tranquilly, 
and  without  conceiving  that  any  thing  more  was  intended 
by  her  movement  than  to  intimidate  me.  To  this  pre 
caution,  however,  I  was  indebted  for  life.  The  bullet 
was  diverted  from  my  forehead  to  my  left  ear,  and  made 
a  slight  wound  upon  the  surface,  from  which  the  blood 
gushed  in  a  stream. 

The  loudness  of  this  explosion,  and  the  shock  which 
the  ball  produced  in  my  brain,  sunk  me  into  a  mo 
mentary  stupor.  I  reeled  backward,  and  should  have 
fallen,  had  not  I  supported  myself  against  the  wall. 
The  sight  of  my  blood  instantly  restored  her  reason. 
Her  rage  disappeared,  and  was  succeeded  by  terror  and 
remorse.  She  clasped  her  hands,  and  exclaimed,  "  Oh ! 
what !  what  have  I  done  ?  My  frantic  passion  has  de 
stroyed  me." 

I  needed  no  long  time  to  show  me  the  full  extent  of 
the  injury  which  I  had  suffered  and  the  conduct  which 
it  became  me  to  adopt.  For  a  moment  I  was  bewildered 
and  alarmed,  but  presently  perceived  that  this  was  an 
incident  more  productive  of  good  than  of  evil.  It  would 
teach  me  caution  in  contending  with  the  passions  of  an 
other,  and  showed  me  that  there  is  a  limit  which  the 
impetuosities  of  anger  will  sometimes  overstep.  Instead 
of  reviling  my  companion,  I  addressed  myself  to  her 
thus : — 

"Be  not  frighted.  You  have  done  me  no  injury,  and, 
I  hope,  will  derive  instruction  from  this  event.  Your 
rashness  had  like  to  have  sacrificed  the  life  of  one  who 
is  your  friend,  and  to  ha.ve  exposed  yourself  to  infamy 
and  death,  or,  at  least,  to  the  pangs  of  eternal  remorse. 
Learn  from  hence  to  curb  your  passions,  and  especially 
to  keep  at  a  distance  from  every  murderous  weapon,  oil 
occasions  when  rage  is  likely  to  take  place  of  reason. 

"I  repeat  that  my  motives  in  entering  this  house  were 
connected  with  your  happiness  as  well  as  that  of  Cle- 
menza  Lodi.  If  I  have  erred  in  supposing  you  the 
member  of  a  vile  and  pernicious  trade,  that  error  was 
worthy  of  being  rectified,  but  violence  and  invective  tend 
only  to  confirm  it.  I  am  incapable  of  any  purpose  that 
is  not  beneficent;  but,  in  the  means  that  I  use  and  in 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793-  11$ 

the  evidence  on  which  I  proceed,  I  am  liable  to  a  thou 
sand  mistakes.  Point  out  to  me  the  road  by  which  I  can 
do  you  good,  and  I  will  cheerfully  pursue  it." 

Finding  that  her  fears  had  been  groundless  as  to  the 
consequences  of  her  rashness,  she  renewed,  though  with 
less  vehemence  than  before,  her  imprecations  on  my  in 
termeddling  and  audacious  folly.  I  listened  till  the 
storm  was  nearly  exhausted,  and  then,  declaring  my  in 
tention  to  revisit  the  house  if  the  interest  of  Clemcnza 
should  require  it,  I  resumed  my  way  to  the  city. 


CHAPTER    \\.\vi. 

.*"  said  L  as  I  basted  iarvird.  -is  mj  fortaae 
an  alnaaaat  in  unforeseen  •ceancaces  ?     I*  e~f 

:  .--    -•-:::  i.  T  :. :    f  -- 
perils  as  lia-T-e  tnauneilei.!  21  j  aepg?  or  is  inj  scun.-?  in- 

ieccai  for  vajiecy  ii«I  ciaJLze  :o  ZLJ  pr^persiiT  to  look 
-      -  -  -    •         .    •     _  ..  .      -      . .-  •    •  •    ->  - 


spirit.  I  left  die 
•-  .        -  _         -        .  : 

--;  i  'L  — _-.ir.  :   :  ;ir-ri  :;  ~~  — . . 
ascnraa  maw  ••  .*  «f  Weibeck.      Aficrvanh  zi j 

-:-.•        :  .     .  :  .        v 

.  -  :       •  .    -  . 

• .  -         •  •          .'  1  ~ 

ir«  fe^ren.^.  aad  inj  pti-wers  *^a.H  aoc  be 
•-•-  -•  •     -     -      -          •    •- 


-  - 

late  0ti  ma.T  be  mat  efeitsallT  anecovz^d.  It 
wise  »  taJce  i^r  fnm  aer  pr^sem  *b»>ie,  aa«i 
"  -  '  - 

ie  naj  zrmdaaJIj  k.ee  roaoaanxM*  of  I^r  -lead 
'    -       •          J  •          : 

sr  fri'd  'W-ii"'i«ick  2L3SC  be  li^rk  as  keaTen  and.  ia- 
-  ..- 

r  aaft!    -Tilksd  *be  not  af  Wclbedc ?     Sai-I  si* 
-    •  -  •     -   .  •      .......    _        .      .-.... 


'-'-' 


Jt^MOZZS  OF  THE   TEA*  *?&. 


•«*  tfcr  hatt;  ti*t 


:   s.: 


-     - 

•e,  «  least,  asttertM 


Il8  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    Off, 

ment  in  repairing  the  wrongs  which  thou  hast  inflicted 
Let  me  gain,  from  the  contemplation  of  thy  misery,  new 
motives  to  sincerity  and  rectitude." 

While  occupied  by  these  reflections,  I  entered  the  city. 
The  thoughts  which  engrossed  my  mind  related  to  Wei- 
beck.  It  is  not  my  custom  to  defer  till  to-morrow  what 
can  be  done  to-day.  The  destiny  of  man  frequently 
hangs  upon  the  lapse  of  a  minute.  "I  will  stop,"  said 
I,  "at  the  prison;  and,  since  the  moment  of  my  arrival 
may  not  be  indifferent,  I  will  go  thither  with  all  possible 
haste."  I  did  not  content  myself  with  walking,  but, 
regardless  of  the  comments  of  passengers,  hurried  along 
the  way  at  full  speed. 

Having  inquired  for  Welbeck,  I  was  conducted  through 
a  dark  room,  crowded  with  beds,  to  a  staircase.  Never 
before  had  I  been  in  a  prison.  Never  had  I  smelt  so 
noisome  an  odour,  or  surveyed  faces  so  begrimed  with 
filth  and  misery.  The  walls  and  floors  were  alike  squalid 
and  detestable.  It  seemed  that  in  this  house  existence 
would  be  bereaved  of  all  its  attractions;  and  yet  those 
faces,  which  could  be  seen  through  the  obscurity  that 
encompassed  them,  were  either  void  of  care  or  distorted 
with  mirth. 

"This,"  said  I,  as  I  followed  my  conductor,  "is  the 
residence  of  Welbeck.  What  contrasts  are  these  to  the 
repose  and  splendour,  pictured  walls,  glossy  hangings, 
gilded  sofas,  mirrors  that  occupied  from  ceiling  to  floor, 
carpets  of  Tauris,  and  the  spotless  and  transcendent 
brilliancy  of  coverlets  and  napkins,  in  thy  former  dwell 
ing  !  Here  brawling  and  the  shuffling  of  rude  feet  are 
eternal.  The  air  is -loaded  with  the  exhalations  of  dis 
ease  and  the  fumes  of  debauchery.  Thou  art  cooped  up 
in  airless  space,  and,  perhaps,  compelled  to  share  thy 
narrow  cell  with  some  stupid  ruffian.  Formerly,  the 
breezes  were  courted  by  thy  lofty  windows.  Aromatic 
shrubs  were  scattered  on  thy  hearth.  Menials,  splendid 
in  apparel,  showed  their  faces  with  diffidence  in  thy 
apartment,  trod  lightly  on  thy  marble  floor,  and  suffered 
not  the  sanctity  of  silence  to  be  troubled  by  a  whisper. 
Thy  lamp  shot  its  rays  through  the  transparency  of  ala 
baster,  and  thy  fragrant  lymph  flowed  from  vases  of 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  119 

porcelain.  Such  were  formerly  the  decorations  of  thy 
hall,  the  embellishments  of  thy  existence;  hut  now — 
alas! " 

We  reached  a  chamber  in  the  second  story.  My  con 
ductor  knocked  at  the  door.  No  one  answered.  Re 
peated  knocks  were  unheard  or  unnoticed  by  the  person 
within.  At  length,  lifting  a  latch,  we  entered  together. 

The  prisoner  lay  upon  the  bed,  with  his  face  turned 
from  the  door.  I  advanced  softly,  making  a  sign  to  the 
keeper  to  withdraw.  Welbeck  was  not  asleep,  but  merely 
buried  in  reverie.  I  was  unwilling  to  disturb  his  musing, 
and  stood  with  my  eyes  fixed  upon  his  form.  He  ap 
peared  unconsious  that  any  one  had  entered. 

At  length,  uttering  a  deep  sigh,  he  changed  his  posture, 
and  perceived  me  in  my  motionless  and  gazing  attitude. 
Recollect  in  what  circumstances  we  had  last  parted. 
Welbeck  had,  no  doubt,  carried  away  with  him  from  that 
interview  a  firm  belief  that  I  should  speedily  die.  His 
prognostic,  however,  was  fated  to  be  contradicted. 

His  first  emotions  were  those  of  surprise.  These  gave 
place  to  mortification  and  rage.  After  eyeing  me  for 
some  time,  he  averted  his  glances,  and  that  effort  which 
is  made  to  dissipate  some  obstacle  to  breathing  showed 
me  that  his  sensations  were  of  the  most  excruciating 
kind.  He  laid  his  head  upon  the  pillow,  and  sunk  into 
his  former  musing.  He  disdained,  or  was  unable,  to 
utter  a  syllabic  of  welcome  or  contempt. 

In  the  opportunity  that  had  been  afforded  me  to  view 
his  countenance,  I  had  observed  tokens  of  a  kind  very 
different  from  those  which  used  to  be  visible.  The 
gloomy  and  malignant  were  more  conspicuous.  Health 
had  forsaken  his  cheeks,  and  taken  along  with  it  those 
flexible  parts  which  formerly  enabled  him  to  cover  his 
secret  torments  and  insidious  purposes  beneath  a  veil  of 
benevolence  and  cheerfulness.  "Alas!"  said  I,  loud 
enough  for  him  to  hear  me,  "  here  is  a  monument  of  ruin. 
Despair  and  mischievous  passions  are  too  deeply  rooted 
in  this  heart  for  me  to  tear  them  away." 

These  expressions  did  not  escape  his  notice.  He 
turned  once  more  and  cast  sullen  looks  upon  me.  There 
was  somewhat  in  his  eyes  that  made  me  shudder.  They 


120  ARTHUR  MERVYN. 

denoted  that  his  reverie  was  not  that  of  grief,  but  of 
madness.  I  continued,  in  a  less  steadfast  voice  than 
before : — 

"  Unhappy  Clemenza  !  I  have  performed  thy  message. 
I  have  visited  him  that  is  sick  and  in  prison.  Thou 
hadst  cause  for  anguish  and  terror,  even  greater  cause 
than  thou  imaginedst.  Would  to  God  that  thou  wouldst 
be  contented  with  the  report  which  I  shall  make ;  that 
thy  misguided  tenderness  would  consent  to  leave  him  to 
his  destiny,  would  suffer  him  to  die  alone;  but  that  is  a 
forbearance  which  no  eloquence  that  I  possess  will  in 
duce  thee  to  practise.  Thou  must  come,  and  witness  for 
thyself." 

In  speaking  thus,  I  was  far  from  foreseeing  the  effects 
which  would  be  produced  on  the  mind  of  Welbeck.  I 
was  far  from  intending  to  instil  into  him  a  belief  that 
Clemenza  was  near  at  hand,  and  was  preparing  to  enter 
his  apartment;  yet  no  other  images  but  these  would, 
perhaps,  have  roused  him  from  his  lethargy,  and 
awakened  that  attention  which  I  wished  to  awaken. 
He  started  up,  and  gazed  fearfully  at  the  door. 

"What!"  he  cried.  "What!  Is  she  here?  Ye 
powers,  that  have  scattered  woes  in  my  path,  spare  me 
the  sight  of  her!  But  from  this  agony  I  will  rescue 
myself.  The  moment  she  appears  I  will  pluck  out  these 
eyes  and  dash  them  at  her  feet." 

So  saying,  he  gazed  with  augmented  eagerness  upon 
the  door.  His  hands  were  lifted  to  his  head,  as  if  ready 
to  execute  his  frantic  purpose.  I  seized  his  arm  and 
besought  him  to  lay  aside  his  terror,  for  that  Clemenza 
was  far  distant.  She  had  no  intention,  and  besides  was 
unable,  to  visit  him. 

"Then  I  am  respited.  I  breathe  again.  No;  keep 
her  from  a  prison.  Drag  her  to  the  wheel  or  to  the 
scaffold;  mangle  her  with  stripes;  torture  her  with 
famine ;  strangle  her  child  before  her  face,  and  cast  it 
to  the  hungry  dogs  that  are  howling  at  the  gate;  but — 
keep  her  from  a  prison.  Never  let  her  enter  these 
doors."  There  he  stopped;  his  eyes  being  fixed  on  the 
floor,  and  his  thoughts  once  more  buried  in  reverie.  I 
resumed : — 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  tjgj.  121 

"She  is  occupied  with  other  griefs  than  those  con 
nected  with  the  fate  of  Welbcck.  She  is  not  unmindful 
of  you;  she  knows  you  to  be  sick  and  in  prison  ;  and  I 
came  to  do  for  you  whatever  office  your  condition  might 
require,  and  I  came  at  her  suggestion.  She,  alas!  has 
full  employment  for  her  tears  in  watering  the  grave  of 
her  child." 

He  started.  "What !  dead  ?  Say  you  that  the  child 
is  dead?" 

"  It  is  dead.  I  witnessed  its  death.  I  saw  it  expire 
in  the  arms  of  its  mother ;  that  mother  whom  I  formerly 
met  under  your  roof  blooming  and  gay,  but  whom  ca 
lamity  has  tarnished  and  withered.  I  saw  her  in  the 
raiment  of  poverty,  under  an  accursed  roof;  desolate; 
alone;  unsolaced  by  the  countenance  or  sympathy  of 
human  beings;  approached  only  by  those  who  mock  at 
her  distress,  set  snares  for  her  innocence,  and  push  her 
to  infamy.  I  saw  her  leaning  over  the  face  of  her  dying 
babe." 

Welbeck  put  his  hands  to  his  head,  and  exclaimed, 
"  Curses  on  thy  lips,  infernal  messenger  !  Chant  else 
where  thy  rueful  ditty !  Vanish  !  if  thou  wouldst  not 
feel  in  thy  heart  fangs  red  with  blood  less  guilty  than 
thine." 

Till  this  moment  the  uproar  in  Welbcck's  mind  ap 
peared  to  hinder  him  from  distinctly  recognising  his 
visitant.  Now  it  seemed  as  if  the  incidents  of  our  last 
interview  suddenly  sprung  up  in  his  remembrance. 

"What!  This  is  the  villain  that  rifled  my  cabinet, 
the  maker  of  my  poverty  and  of  all  the  evils  which  it 
has  since  engendered !  That  has  led  me  to  a  prison ! 
Execrable  fool !  you  are  the  author  of  the  scene  that 
you  describe,  and  of  horrors  without  number  and  name. 
To  whatever  crimes  I  have  been  urged  since  that  inter 
view,  and  the  fit  of  madness  that  made  you  destroy  my 
property,  they  spring  from  your  act;  they  flowed  from 
necessity,  which,  had  you  held  your  hand  at  that  fateful 
moment,  would  never  have  existed. 

"How  dare  you  thrust  yourself  upon  my  privacy? 
Why  am  I  not  alone  ?  Fly !  and  let  my  miseries  want, 
at  least,  the  aggravation  of  beholding  their  author.  My 


122  ARTHUR  MERVYN. 

eyes  loathe  the  sight  of  thee !  My  heart  would  suffocate 
thee  with  its  own  bitterness  !  Begone !" 

"I  know  not,"  I  answered,  "why  innocence  should 
tremble  at  the  ravings  of  a  lunatic;  why  it  should  be 
overwhelmed  by  unmerited  reproaches !  Why  it  should 
not  deplore  the  errors  of  its  foe,  labour  to  correct  those 
errors,  and " 

"Thank  thy  fate,  youth,  that  my  hands  are  tied  up 
by  my  scorn;  thank  thy  fate  that  no  weapon  is  within 
reach.  Much  has  passed  since  I  saw  thee,  and  I  am  a 
new  man.  I  am  no  longer  inconstant  and  cowardly.  I 
have  no  motives  but  contempt  to  hinder  me  from  expi 
ating  the  wrongs  which  thou  hast  done  me  in  thy  blood. 
I  disdain  to  take  thy  life.  Go;  and  let  thy  fidelity,  at 
least,  to  the  confidence  which  I  have  placed  in  thee,  be 
inviolate.  Thou  hast  done  me  harm  enough,  but  canst  do, 
if  thou  wilt,  still  more.  Thou  canst  betray  the  secrets  that 
are  lodged  in  thy  bosom,  and  rob  me  of  the  comfort  of 
reflecting  that  my  guilt  is  known  but  to  one  among  the 
living." 

This  suggestion  made  me  pause,  and  look  back  upon  the 
past.  I  had  confided  this  man's  tale  to  you.  The  se 
crecy  on  which  he  so  fondly  leaned  was  at  an  end.  Had 
I  acted  culpably  or  not  ? 

But  why  should  I  ruminate,  with  anguish  and  doubt, 
upon  the  past?  The  future  was  within  my  power,  and 
the  road  of  my  duty  was  too  plain  to  be  mistaken.  I  would 
disclose  to  Welbeck  the  truth,  and  cheerfully  encounter 
every  consequence.  I  would  summon  my  friend  to  my 
aid,  and  take  his  counsel  in  the  critical  emergency  in 
which  I  was  placed.  I  ought  not  to  rely  upon  myself 
alone  in  my  efforts  to  benefit  this  being,  when  another 
was  so  near  whose  discernment  and  benevolence,  and 
knowledge  of  mankind,  and  power  of  affording  relief, 
were  far  superior  to  mine. 

Influenced  by  these  thoughts,  I  left  the  apartment 
without  speaking ;  and,  procuring  pen  and  paper,  de 
spatched  to  you  the  billet  which  brought  about  our 
meeting. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

MERVYN'S  auditors  allowed  no  pause  in  their  attention 
to  this  story.  Having  ended,  a  deep  silence  took  place. 
The  clock  which  stood  upon  the  mantel  had  sounded 
twice  the  customary  larum,  but  had  not  been  heard  by 
us.  It  was  now  struck  a  third  time.  It  was  one.  Our 
guest  appeared  somewhat  startled  at  this  signal,  and 
looked,  with  a  mournful  sort  of  earnestness,  at  the  clock. 
There  was  an  air  of  inquietude  about  him  which  I  had 
never  observed  in  an  equal  degree  before. 

I  was  not  without  much  curiosity  respecting  other  in 
cidents  than  those  which  had  just  been  related  by  him ; 
but,  after  so  much  fatigue  as  he  had  undergone,  I  thought 
it  improper  to  prolong  the  conversation. 

"Come,"  said  I,  "my  friend,  let  us  to  bed.  This  is 
a  drowsy  time,  and,  after  so  much  exercise  of  mind  and 
body,  you  cannot  but  need  some  repose.  Much  has  hap 
pened  in  your  absence,  which  is  proper  to  be  known  to 
you ;  but  our  discourse  will  be  best  deferred  till  to 
morrow.  I  will  come  into  your  chamber  by  day-dawn, 
and  unfold  to  you  particulars." 

"Nay,"  said  he,  "withdraw  not  on  my  account.  If  I 
go  to  my  chamber,  it  will  not  be  to  sleep,  but  to  meditate, 
especially  after  your  assurance  that  something  of  moment 
has  occurred  in  my  absence.  My  thoughts,  independently 
of  any  cause  of  sorrow  or  fear,  have  received  an  impulse 
which  solitude  and  darkness  will  not  stop.  It  is  impos 
sible  to  know  too  much  for  our  safety  and  integrity,  or 
to  know  it  too  soon.  What  has  happened  ?" 

I  did  not  hesitate  to  comply  with  his  request,  for  it 
•was  not  difficult  to  conceive  that,  however  tired  the  limbs 
might  be,  the  adventures  of  this  day  would  not  be  easily 

123 


124  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

expelled  from  the  memory  at  night.  I  told  him  the  sub 
stance  of  the  conversation  with  Mrs.  Althorpc.  Ho  smiled 
at  those  parts  of  the  narrative  which  related  to  himself; 
but  when  his  father's  depravity  and  poverty  were  men 
tioned,  he  melted  into  tears. 

"Poor  wretch  !  I,  that  knew  thee  in  thy  better  days, 
might  have  easily  divined  this  consequence.  I  foresaw 
thy  poverty  and  degradation  in  the  same  hour  that  I  left 
thy  roof.  My  soul  drooped  at  the  prospect,  but  I  said, 
It  cannot  be  prevented,  and  this  reflection  was  an  anti 
dote  to  grief;  but,  now  that  thy  ruin  is  complete,  it 
Beems  as  if  some  of  it  were  imputable  to  me,  who  forsook 
thee  when  the  succour  and  counsel  of  a  son  were  most 
needed.  Thou  art  ignorant  and  vicious,  but  thou  art  my 
father  still.  I  see  that  the  sufferings  of  a  better  man 
than  thou  art  would  less  afflict  me  than  thine.  Perhaps 
it  is  still  in  my  power  to  restore  thy  liberty  and  good 
name,  and  yet — that  is  a  fond  wish.  Thou  art  past  the 
age  when  the  ignorance  and  grovelling  habits  of  a  human 
being  are  susceptible  of  cure."  There  he  stopped,  and, 
after  a  gloomy  pause,  continued  : — 

I  am  not  surprised  or  afflicted  at  the  misconceptions 
of  my  neighbours  with  relation  to  my  own  character. 
Men  must  judge  from  what  they  see;  they  must  build 
their  conclusions  on  their  knowledge.  I  never  saw  in 
the  rebukes  of  my  neighbours  any  thing  but  laudable 
abhorrence  of  vice.  They  were  too  eager  to  blame,  to 
collect  materials  of  censure  rather  than  of  praise.  It 
was  not  me  whom  they  hated  and  despised.  It  was  the 
phantom  that  passed  under  my  name,  which  existed  only 
in  their  imagination,  and  which  was  worthy  of  all  their 
scorn  and  all  their  enmity. 

What  I  appeared  to  be  in  their  eyes  was  as  much  the 
object  of  my  own  disapprobation  as  of  theirs.  Their  re 
proaches  only  evinced  the  rectitude  of  their  decisions,  as 
well  as  of  my  own.  I  drew  from  them  new  motives  to 
complacency.  They  fortified  my  perseverance  in  the  path 
which  I  had  chosen  as  best ;  they  raised  me  higher  in  my 
own  esteem ;  they  heightened  the  claims  of  the  reproachers 
themselves  to  uiy  respect  and  my  gratitude. 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  125 

They  thought  me  slothful,  incurious,  destitute  of  know 
ledge  and  of  all  thirst  of  knowledge,  insolent,  and  pro 
fligate.  They  say  that  in  the  treatment  of  my  father  I 
have  been  ungrateful  and  inhuman.  I  have  stolen  his 
property,  and  deserted  him  in  his  calamity.  Therefore 
they  hate  and  revile  me.  It  is  well ;  I  love  them  for 
these  proofs  of  their  discernment  and  integrity.  Their 
indignation  at  wrong  is  the  truest  test  of  their  virtue. 

It  is  true  that  they  mistake  me,  but  that  arises  from 
the  circumstances  of  our  mutual  situation.  They  exa 
mined  what  was  exposed  to  their  view ,  they  grasped  at 
what  was  placed  within  their  reach.  To  decide  contrary 
to  appearances,  to  judge  from  what  they  knew  not, 
would  prove  them  to  be  brutish  and  not  rational,  would 
make  their  decision  of  no  worth,  and  render  them,  in  their 
turn,  objects  of  neglect  and  contempt. 

It  is  true  that  I  hated  school ;  that  I  sought  occasions 
of  absence,  and  finally,  on  being  struck  by  the  master, 
determined  to  enter  his  presence  no  more.  I  loved  to  leap, 
to  run,  to  swim,  to  climb  trees  and  to  clamber  up  rocks, 
to  shroud  myself  in  thickets  and  stroll  among  woods,  to 
obey  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  and  to  prate  or  be  silent, 
just  as  my  humour  prompted  me.  All  this  I  loved  more 
than  to  go  to  and  fro  in  the  same  path,  and  at  stated 
hours  to  look  off  and  on  a  book,  to  read  just  as  much 
and  of  such  a  kind,  to  stand  up  and  be  seated,  just  as 
another  thought  proper  to  direct.  I  hated  to  be  classed, 
cribbed,  rebuked,  and  feruled  at  the  pleasure  of  one  who, 
as  it  seemed  to  me,  knew  no  guide  in  his  rewards  but 
caprice,  and  no  prompter  in  his  punishments  but  passion. 

It  is  true  that  I  took  up  the  spade  and  the  hoe  as 
rarely,  and  for  as  short  a  time,  as  possible.  I  preferred 
to  ramble  in  the  forest  and  loiter  on  the  hill ;  perpetually 
to  change  the  scene ;  to  scrutinize  the  endless  variety  of 
objects  ;  to  compare  one  leaf  and  pebble  with  another ; 
to  pursue  those  trains  of  thought  which  their  resem 
blances  and  differences  suggested ;  to  inquire  what  it 
was  that  gave  them  this  place,  structure,  and  form, 
were  more  agreeable  employments  than  ploughing  and 
threshing. 

My  father  could  well  afford  to  hire  labour.     What  my 


126  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

age  and  my  constitution  enabled  me  to  do  could  be  done 
by  a  sturdy  boy,  in  half  the  time,  with  half  the  toil,  and 
with  none  of  the  reluctance.  The  boy  was  a  bond 
servant,  and  the  cost  of  his  clothing  and  food  was  next 
to  nothing.  True  it  is,  that  my  service  would  have  saved 
him  even  this  expense,  but  my  motives  for  declining  the 
effort  were  not  hastily  weighed  or  superficially  examined. 
These  were  my  motives. 

My  frame  was  delicate  and  feeble.  Exposure  to  wet 
blasts  and  vertical  suns  was  sure  to  make  me  sick.  My 
father  was  insensible  to  this  consequence ;  and  no  de 
gree  of  diligence  would  please  him  but  that  which  would 
destroy  my  health.  My  health  was  dearer  to  my  mother 
than  to  me.  She  was  more  anxious  to  exempt  me  from 
possible  injuries  than  reason  justified ;  but  anxious  she 
was,  and  I  could  not  save  her  from  anxiety  but  by  almost 
wholly  abstaining  from  labour.  I  thought  her  peace  of 
mind  was  of  some  value,  and  that,  if  the  inclination  of 
either  of  my  parents  must  be  gratified  at  the  expense 
of  the  other,  the  preference  was  due  to  the  woman  who 
bore  me ;  who  nursed  me  in  disease ;  who  watched  over 
my  safety  with  incessant  tenderness ;  whose  life  and 
whose  peace  were  involved  in  mine.  I  should  have 
deemed  myself  brutish  and  obdurately  wicked  to  have 
loaded  her  with  fears  and  cares  merely  to  smooth  the 
brow  of  a  fro  ward  old  man,  whose  avarice  called  on  me 
to  sacrifice  my  ease  and  my  health,  and  who  shifted  to 
other  shoulders  the  province  of  sustaining  me  when  sick, 
and  of  mourning  for  me  when  dead. 

I  likewise  believed  that  it  became  me  to  reflect  upon 
the  influence  of  my  decision  on  my  own  happiness ;  and 
to  weigh  the  profits  flowing  to  my  father  from  my  labour, 
against  the  benefits  of  mental  exercise,  the  pleasures  of 
the  woods  and  streams,  healthful  sensations,  and  the 
luxury  of  musing.  The  pecuniary  profit  was  petty  and 
contemptible.  It  obviated  no  necessity.  It  purchased 
no  rational  enjoyment.  It  merely  provoked,  by  furnish 
ing  the  means  of  indulgence,  an  appetite  from  which  my 
father  was  not  exempt.  It  cherished  the  seeds  of  de 
pravity  in  him,  and  lessened  the  little  stock  of  happiness 
belonging  to  my  mother. 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  H93- 

I  did  not  detain  you  long,  ray  friends,  in  portraying 
my  parents,  and  recounting  domestic  incidents,  when  I 
first  told  you  my  story.  What  had  no  connection  with 
the  history  of  Welbeck  and  with  the  part  that  I  have 
acted  upon  this  stage  I  thought  it  proper  to  omit.  My 
omission  was  likewise  prompted  by  other  reasons.  My 
mind  is  enervated  and  feeble,  like  my  body.  I  cannot 
look  upon  the  sufferings  of  those  I  love  without  exquisite 
pain.  I  cannot  steel  my  heart  by  the  force  of  reason, 
and  by  submission  to  necessity ;  and,  therefore,  too  fre 
quently  employ  the  cowardly  expedient  of  endeavouring 
to  forget  what  I  cannot  remember  without  agony. 

I  told  you  that  my  father  was  sober  and  industrious  by 
habit ;  but  habit  is  not  uniform.  There  were  intervals 
when  his  plodding  and  tame  spirit  gave  place  to  the  malice 
and  fury  of  a  demon.  Liquors  were  not  sought  by  him; 
but  he  could  not  withstand  entreaty,  and  a  potion  that  pro 
duced  no  effect  upon  others  changed  him  into  a  maniac. 

I  told  you  that  I  had  a  sister,  whom  the  arts  of  a  vil 
lain  destroyed.  Alas  !  the  work  of  her  destruction  was 
left  unfinished  by  him.  The  blows  and  contumelies  of  a 
misjudging  and  implacable  parent,  who  scrupled  not  to 
thrust  her,  with  her  new-born  infant,  out  of  doors ;  the 
curses  and  taunts  of  unnatural  brothers,  left  her  no  alter 
native  but  death. But  I  must  not  think  of  this ;  I  must 

not  think  of  the  wrongs  which  my  mother  endured  in  the 
person  of  her  only  and  darling  daughter. 

My  brothers  were  the  copyists  of  the  father,  whom 
they  resembled  in  temper  and  person.  My  mother  doted 
on  her  own  image  in  her  daughter  and  in  me.  This 
daughter  was  ravished  from  her  by  self-violence,  and  her 
other  children  by  disease.  I  only  remained  to  appro 
priate  her  affections  and  fulfil  her  hopes.  This  alone 
had  furnished  a  sufficient  reason  why  I  should  be  careful 
of  my  health  and  my  life,  but  my  father's  character  sup 
plied  me  with  a  motive  infinitely  more  cogent. 

It  is  almost  incredible,  but  nevertheless  true,  that  the 
only  being  whose  presence  and  remonstrances  had  any 
influence  on  m'y  father,  at  moments  when  his  reason  was 
extinct,  was  myself.  As  to  my  personal  strength,  it  was 
nothing ;  yet  my  mother's  person  was  rescued  from  brutal 


128  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

* 

violence;  he  was  checked,  in  the  midst  of  his  ferocious 
career,  by  a  single  look  or  exclamation  from  me.  The 
fear  of  my  rebukes  had  even  some  influence  in  enabling 
him  to  resist  temptation.  ]f  1  entered  the  tavern  at 
the  moment  when  he  was  lifting  the  glass  to  his  lips,  I 
never  weighed  the  injunctions  of  decorum,  but,  snatching 
the  vessel  from  his  hand,  I  threw  it  on  the  ground.  I 
was  not  deterred  by  the  presence  of  others;  and  their 
censures  on  my  want  of  filial  respect  and  duty  were 
listened  to  with  unconcern.  I  chose  not  to  justify  my 
self  by  expatiating  on  domestic  miseries,  and  by  calling 
down  that  pity  on  my  mother  which  I  knew  would  only 
have  increased  her  distress. 

The  world  regarded  my  deportment  as  insolent  and 
perverse  to  a  degree  of  insanity.  To  deny  my  father 
an  indulgence  which  they  thought  harmless,  and  which, 
indeed,  was  harmless  in  its  influence  on  other  men ;  to 
interfere  thus  publicly  with  his  social  enjoyments,  and 
expose  him  to  mortification  and  shame,  was  loudly  con 
demned  ;  but  my  duty  to  ray  mother  debarred  me  from 
eluding  this  censure  on  the  only  terms  on  which  it  could 
have  been  eluded.  Now  it  has  ceased  to  be  necessary 
to  conceal  what  passed  in  domestic  retirements,  and  I 
should  willingly  confess  the  truth  before  any  audience. 

At  first  my  father  imagined  that  threats  and  blows 
would  intimidate  his  monitor.  In  this  he  was  mistaken, 
and  the  detection  of  this  mistake  impressed  him  with  an 
involuntary  reverence  for  me,  which  set  bounds  to  those 
excesses  which  disdained  any  other  control.  Hence  I 
derived  new  motives  for  cherishing  a  life  which  was 
useful,  in  so  many  ways,  to  my  mother. 

My  condition  is  now  changed.  I  am  no  longer  on 
that  field  to  which  the  law,  as  well  as  reason,  must  ac 
knowledge  that  I  had  some  right,  while  there  was  any 
in  my  father.  I  must  hazard  my  life,  if  need  be,  in  the 
pursuit  of  the  means  of  honest  subsistence.  I  never 
spared  myself  while  in  the  service  of  Mr.  Hadwin ;  and, 
at  a  more  inclement  season,  should  probably  have  in 
curred  some  hazard  by  my  diligence. 

These  were  the  motives  of  my  idleness, — for  my  ab 
staining  from  the  common  toils  of  the  farm  passed  by 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  12$ 

• 

that  name  among  my  neighbours ;  though,  in  truth,  my 
time  was  far  from  being  wholly  unoccupied  by  manual 
employments,  but  these  required  less  exertion  of  body  or 
mind,  or  were  more  connected  with  intellectual  efforts. 
They  were  pursued  in  the  seclusion  of  my  chamber  or 
the  recesses  of  a  wood.  I  did  not  labour  to  conceal 
them,  but  neither  was  I  anxious  to  attract  notice.  It 
was  sufficient  that  the  censure  of  my  neighbours  was 
unmerited,  to  make  me  regard  it  with  indifference. 

I  sought  not  the  society  of  persons  of  my  own  age,  not 
from  sullen  or  unsociable  habits,  but  merely  because  those 
around  me  were  totally  unlike  myself.  Their  tastes  and 
occupations  were  incompatible  with  mine.  In  my  few 
books,  in  my  pen,  in  the  vegetable  and  animal  existences 
around  me,  I  found  companions  who  adapted  their  visits 
and  intercourse  to  my  convenience  and  caprice,  and  with 
whom  I  was  never  tired  of  communing. 

I  was  not  unaware  of  the  opinion  which  my  neighbours 
had  formed  of  my  being  improperly  connected  with  Betty 
Lawrence.  I  am  not  sorry  that  I  fell  into  company  with 
that  girl.  Her  intercourse  has  instructed  me  in  what  some 
would  think  impossible  to  be  attained  by  one  who  had  never 
haunted  the  impure  recesses  of  licentiousness  in  a  city. 
The  knowledge  which  a'  residence  in  this  town  for  ten 
years  gave  her  audacious  and  inquisitive  spirit  she  im 
parted  to  me.  Her  character,  profligate  and  artful, 
libidinous  and  impudent,  and  made  up  of  the  impressions 
which  a  city  life  had  produced  on  her  coarse  but  active 
mind,  was  open  to  my  study,  and  I  studied  it. 

I  scarcely  know  how  to  repel  the  charge  of  illicit  con 
duct,  and  to  depict  the  exact  species  of  intercourse  subsist 
ing  between  us.  I  always  treated  her  with  freedom,  and 
sometimes  with  gayety.  I  had  no  motives  to  reserve.  I 
was  so  formed  that  a  creature  like  her  had  no  power  over 
my  senses.  That  species  of  temptation  adapted  to  entice 
me  from  the  true  path  was  widely  different  from  the  arti 
fices  of  Betty.  There  was  no  point  at  which  it  was  pos 
sible  for  her  to  get  possession  of  rny  fancy.  I  watched 
her  while  she  practised  all  her  tricks  and  blandishments, 
as  I  regarded  a  similar  deportment  in  the  animal  salax 
ignavumque  who  inhabits  the  sty.  I  made  efforts  to  pur- 


130  ARTHUR  MERVYN. 

• 

sue  my  observations  unembarrassed ;  but  my  efforts  were 
made,  not  to  restrain  desire,  but  to  suppress  disgust.  The 
difficulty  lay,  not  in  withholding  my  caresses,  but  in  for 
bearing  to  repulse  her  with  rage. 

Decorum,  indeed,  was  not  outraged,  and  all  limits  were 
not  overstepped  at  once.  Dubious  advances  were  employed; 
but,  when  found  unavailing,  were  displaced  by  more 
shameless  and  direct  proceedings.  She  was  too  little 
versed  in  human  nature  to  see  that  her  last  expedient 
was  always  worse  than  the  preceding ;  and  that,  in  pro 
portion  as  she  lost  sight  of  decency,  she  multiplied  the 
obstacles  to  her  success. 

Betty  had  many  enticements  in  person  and  air.  She 
was  ruddy,  smooth,  and  plump.  To  these  she  added — 
I  must  not  say  what,  for  it  is  strange  to  what  lengths  a 
woman  destitute  of  modesty  will  sometimes  go.  But,  all 
her  artifices  availing  her  not  at  all  in  the  contest  with 
my  insensibilities,  she  resorted  to  extremes  which  it  would 
serve  no  good  purpose  to  describe  in  this  audience.  They 
produced  not  the  consequences  she  wished,  but  they  pro 
duced  another  which  was  by  no  means  displeasing  to  her. 
An  incident  one  night  occurred,  from  which  a  sagacious 
observer  deduced  the  existence  of  an  intrigue.  It  was 
useless  to  attempt  to  rectify  his  mistake  by  explaining 
appearances  in  a  manner  consistent  with  my  innocence. 
This  mode  of  explication  implied  a  continence  in  me 
which  he  denied  to  be  possible.  The  standard  of  possi 
bilities,  especially  in  vice  and  virtue,  is  fashioned  by  most 
men  after  their  own  character.  A  temptation  which  this 
judge  of  human  nature  knew  that  he  was  unable  to  resist, 
he  sagely  concluded  to  be  irresistible  by  any  other  man, 
and  quickly  established  the  belief  among  my  neighbours, 
that  the  woman  who  married  the  father  had  been  prosti 
tuted  to  the  son.  Though  I  never  admitted  the  truth  of 
this  aspersion,  I  believed  it  useless  to  deny,  because  no 
one  would  credit  my  denial,  and  because  I  had  no  power 
to  disprove  it. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

WHAT  other  inquiries  were  to  be  resolved  by  our 
young  friend,  we  were  now,  at  this  late  hour,  obliged  to 
postpone  till  the  morrow.  I  shall  pass  over  the  reflec 
tions  which  a  story  like  this  would  naturally  suggest, 
and  hasten  to  our  next  interview. 

After  breakfast  next  morning,  the  subject  of  last  night's 
conversation  was  renewed.  I  told  him  that  something 
had  occurred  in  his  absence,  in  relation  to  Mrs.  Went- 
worth  and  her  nephew,  that  had  perplexed  us  not  a  little. 
"My  information  is  obtained,"  continued  I,  "from  Wort- 
ley  ;  and  it  is  nothing  less  than  that  young  Clavering, 
Mrs.  Wentworth's  nephew,  is,  at  this  time,  actually  alive." 

Surprise,  but  none  of  the  embarrassment  of  guilt,  ap 
peared  in  his  countenance  at  these  tidings.  He  looked 
at  me  as  if  desirous  that  I  should  proceed. 

"It  seems,"  added  I,  "that  a  letter  was  lately  received 
by  this  lady  from  the  father  of  Clavering,  who  is  now  in 
Europe.  This  letter  reports  that  this  son  was  lately  met 
with  in  Charleston,  and  relates  the  means  which  old  Mr. 
Clavering  had  used  to  prevail  upon  his  son  to  return 
home;  means,  of  the  success  of  which  he  entertained 
well-grounded  hopes.  What  think  you?" 

"I  can  only  reject  it,"  said  he,  after  some  pause,  "as 
untrue.  The  father's  correspondent  may  have  been  de 
ceived.  The  father  may  have  been  deceived,  or  the  father 
may  conceive  it  necessary  to  deceive  the  aunt,  or  some 
other  supposition  as  to  the  source  of  the  error  may  be 
true ;  but  an  error  it  surely  is.  Clavering  is  not  alive. 
I  know  the  chamber  where  he  died,  and  the  withered 
pine  under  which  he  lies  buried." 

"If  she  be  deceived,"  said  I,  "it  will  be  impossible 
to  rectify  her  error." 

131 


132  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

"I  hope  not.  An  honest  front  and  a  straight  story 
will  be  sufficient." 

"How  do  you  mean -to  act?" 

"Visit  her,  without  doubt,  and  tell  her  the  truth.  My 
tale  will  be  too  circumstantial  and  consistent  to  permit 
her  to  disbelieve." 

"  She  will  not  hearken  to  you.  She  is  too  strongly  pre 
possessed  against  you  to  admit  you  even  to  a  hearing." 

"She  cannot  help  it.  Unless  she  lock  her  door  against 
me,  or  stuff  her  ears  with  wool,  she  must  hear  me.  Her 
prepossessions  are  reasonable,  but  are  easily  removed  by 
telling  the  truth.  Why  does  she  suspect  me  of  artifice  ? 
Because  I  seemed  to  be  allied  to  Welbeck,  and  because 
I  disguised  the  truth.  That  she  thinks  ill  of  me  is  not 
her  fault,  but  my  misfortune ;  and,  happily  for  me,  a 
misfortune  easily  removed." 

"Then  you  will  try  to  see  her?" 

"I  will  see  her,  and  the  sooner  the  better.  I  will  see 
her  to-day  ;  this  morning  ;  as  soon  as  I  have  seen  Wel 
beck,  whom  I  shall  immediately  visit  in  his  prison." 

"There  are  other  embarrassments  and  dangers  of 
which  you  are  not  aware.  Welbeck  is  pursued  by  many 
persons  whom  he  has  defrauded  of  large  sums.  By  these 
persons  you  are  deemed  an  accomplice  in  his  guilt,  and 
a  warrant  is  already  in  the  hands  of  officers  for  arrest 
ing  you  wherever  you  are  found." 

"In  what  way,"  said  Mervyn,  sedately,  "do  they 
imagine  me  a  partaker  of  his  crime  ?" 

"I  know  not.  You  lived  with  him.  You  fled  with 
him.  You  aided  and  connived  at  his  escape." 

"Are  these  crimes?" 

"  I  believe  not,  but  they  subject  you  to  suspicion." 

"To  arrest  and  to  punishment?" 

"  To  detention  for  a  while,  perhaps.  But  these  alone 
cannot  expose  you  to  punishment." 

"I  thought  so.     Then  I  have  nothing  to  fear." 

"You  have  imprisonment  and  obloquy,  at  least,  to 
dread." 

"  True ;  but  they  cannot  be  avoided  but  by  my  exile 
and  skulking  out  of  sight, — evils  infinitely  more  formid 
able.  I  shall,  therefore,  not  avoid  them.  The  sooner 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  133 

my  conduct  is  subjected  to  scrutiny,  the  better.     Will 
you  go  with  me  to  Wclbeck  ?" 

"I  will  go  with  you." 

Inquiring  for  Welbeck  of  the  keeper  of  the  prison,  we 
were  informed  that  he  was  in  his  own  apartment,  very 
sick.  The  physician  attending  the  prison  had  been 
called,  but  the  prisoner  had  preserved  an  obstinate  and 
scornful  silence ;  and  had  neither  explained  his  con 
dition,  nor  consented  to  accept  any  aid. 

We  now  went  alone  into  his  apartment.  His  sensi 
bility  seemed  fast  ebbing,  yet  an  emotion  of  joy  was 
visible  in  his  eyes  at  the  appearance  of  Mervyn.  He 
seemed  likewise  to  recognise  in  me  his  late  visitant,  and 
made  no  objection  to  my  entrance. 

"How  are  you  this  morning?"  said  Arthur,  seating 
himself  on  the  bedside,  and  taking  his  hand.  The  sick 
man  was  scarcely  able  to  articulate  his  reply : — "  I  shall 
soon  be  well.  I  have  longed  to  see  you.  I  want  to 
leave  with  you  a  few  words."  He  now  cast  his  languid 
eyes  on  me.  "You  are  his  friend,"  he  continued.  "  You 
know  all.  You  may  stay." 

There  now  succeeded  a  long  pause,  during  which  he 
closed  his  eyes,  and  resigned  himself  as  if  to  an  oblivion 
of  all  thought.  His  pulse  under  my  hand  was  scarcely 
perceptible.  From  this  in  some  minutes  he  recovered, 
and,  fixing  his  eyes  on  Mervyn,  resumed,  in  a  broken 
and  feeble  accent : — 

"Cleinenza!     You  have  seen  her.     Weeks  ago,  I  left  - 
her  in  an  accursed  house ;    yet  she  has  not  been  mis 
treated.     Neglected  arid  abandoned  indeed,  but  not  mis 
treated.     Save  her,  Mervyn.     Comfort   her.     Awaken 
charity  for  her  sake. 

"I  cannot  tell  you  what  has  happened.  The  tale  would 
be  too  long, — too  mournful.  Yet,  in  justice  to  the  living, 
I  must  tell  you  something.  My  woes  and  my  crimes  will 
be  buried  with  me.  Some  of  them,  but  not  all. 

"Ere  this,  I  should  liave  been  many  leagues  upon  the 
ocean,  had  not  a  newspaper  fallen  into  my  hands  while  on 
the  eve  of  embarkation.  By  that  I  learned  that  a  treasure 
was  buried  with  the  remains  of  the  ill-fated  Watson.  I 
was  destitute.  I  was  unjust  enough  to  wish  to  make  this 


134  ARTHUR  MERVYX;    OR, 

treasure  my  own.  Prone  to  think  I  was  forgotten,  or  num 
bered  with  the  victims  of  pestilence,  I  ventured  to  return 
under  a  careless  disguise.  I  penetrated  to  the  vaults  of 
that  deserted  dwelling  by  night.  I  dug  up  the  bones  of 
my  friend,  and  found  the  girdle  and  its  valuable  contents, 
according  to  the  accurate  description  that  I  had  read. 

"  I  hastened  back  with  my  prize  to  Baltimore,  but  my 
evil  destiny  overtook  me  at  last.  I  was  recognised  by 
emissaries  of  Jaaaieson,  arrested  and  brought  hither,  and 
here  shall  I  consummate  my  fate  and  defeat  the  rage  of 
my  creditors  by  death.  But  first " 

Here  Welbeck  stretched  out  his  left  hand  to  Mervyn, 
and,  after  some  reluctance,  showed  a  roll  of  lead. 

'•Receive  this,"  said  he.  "  In  the  use  of  it,  be  guided 
by  your  honesty  and  by  the  same  advertisement  that  fur 
nished  me  the  clue  by  which  to  recover  it.  That  being 
secured,  the  world  and  I  will  part  forever.  Withdraw, 
for  your  presence  can  help  me  nothing." 

We  were  unwilling  to  comply  with  his  injunction,  and 
continued  some  longer  time  in  his  chamber ;  but  our  kind 
intent  availed  nothing.  He  quickly  relapsed  into  in 
sensibility,  from  which  he  recovered  not  again,  but  next 
day  expired.  Such,  in  the  flower  of  his  age,  was  the 
fate  of  Thomas  Welbeck. 

Whatever  interest  I  might  feel  in  accompanying  the 
progress  of  my  young  friend,  a  sudden  and  unforeseen 
emergency  compelled  me  again  to  leave  the  city.  A 
kinsman,  to  whom  I  was  bound  by  many  obligations,  was 
suffering  a  lingering  disease,  and,  imagining,  with  some 
reason,  his  dissolution  to  be  not  far  distant,  he  besought 
my  company  and  my  assistance,  to  soothe,  at  least,  the 
agonies  of  his  last  hour.  I  was  anxious  to  clear  up  the 
mysteries  which  Arthur's  conduct  had  produced,  and  to 
shield  him,  if  possible,  from  the  evils  which  I  feared 
awaited  him.  It  was  impossible,  however,  to  decline  the 
invitation  of  my  kinsman,  as  his  residence  was  not  a 
day's  journey  from  the  city.  I  was  obliged  to  content 
myself  with  occasional  information,  imparted  by  Mer- 
vyn's  letters  or  those  of  my  wife. 

Meanwhile,  on  leaving  the  prison,  I  hasted  to  inform 
Mervyn  of  the  true  nature  of  the  scene  which  had  just 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR   f?9J.  135 

passed.  By  this  extraordinary  occurrence,  the  property 
of  the  Maurices  was  now  in  honest  hands.  Welbeck, 
stimulated  by  selfish  motives,  had  done  that  which  any 
other  person  would  have  found  encompassed  with  formid 
able  dangers  and  difficulties.  How  this  attempt  was 
suggested  or  executed,  he  had  not  informed  us,  nor  waa 
it  desirable  to  know.  It  was  sufficient  that  the  means 
of  restoring  their  own  to  a  destitute  and  meritorious 
family  were  now  in  our  possession. 

Having  returned  home,  I  unfolded  to  Mervyn  all  the 
particulars  respecting  Williams  and  the  Maurices  which 
I  had  lately  learned  from  Wortley.  He  listened  witu 
deep  attention,  and,  my  story  being  finished,  he  said, 
"  In  this  small  compass,  then,  is  the  patrimony  and  sub 
sistence  of  a  numerous  family.  To  restore  it  to  them  is  the 
obvious  proceeding — but  how  ?  Where  do  they  abide?" 

"Williams  and  Watson's  wife  live  in  Baltimore,  and 
the  Maurices  live  near  that  town.  The  advertisements 
alluded  to  by  Wortley,  and  which  are  to  be  found  in  any 
newspaper,  will  inform  us ;  but,  first,  are  we  sure  that 
any  or  all  of  these  bills  are  contained  in  this  covering?" 

The  lead  was  now  unrolled,  and  the  bills  which  Wil 
liams  had  described  were  found  enclosed.  Nothing  ap 
peared  to  be  deficient.  Of  this,  however,  we  were 
scarcely  qualified  to  judge.  Those  that  were  the  pro 
perty  of  Williams  might  not  be  entire,  and  what  would 
be  the  consequence  of  presenting  them  to  him,  if  any 
had  been  embezzled  by  Welbeck  ? 

This  difficulty  was  obviated  by  Mervyn,  who  observed 
that  the  advertisement  describing  these  bills  would  afford 
us  ample  information  on  this  head.  "  Having  found  out 
where  the  Maurices  and  Mrs.  Watson  live,  nothing  re 
mains  but  to  visit  them,  and  put  an  end,  as  far  as  lies  in 
my  power,  to  their  inquietudes." 

"  What !     Would  you  go  to  Baltimore  ?" 

"Certainly.  Can  any  other  expedient  be  proper? 
How  shall  I  otherwise  insure  the  safe  conveyance  of 
these  papers  ?" 

"You  may  send  them  by  post." 

"But  why  not  go  myself?" 

"I  can  hardly  tell,  unless  your  appearance  on  such 


136  ARTHUR  MERVYN, 

an  errand  may  be  suspected  likely  to  involve  you  in  em 
barrassments." 

"What  embarrassments?  If  they  receive  their  own, 
ought  they  not  to  be  satisfied?" 

"The  inquiry  will  naturally  be  made  as  to  the  manner 
of  gaining  possession  of  these  papers.  They  were  lately 
in  the  hands  of  Watson,  but  Watson  has  disappeared. 
Suspicions  are  awake  respecting  the  cause  of  his  disap 
pearance.  These  suspicions  are  connected  with  Welbeck, 
and  Welbeck's  connection  with  you  is  not  unknown." 

"  These  are  evils,  but  I  see  not  how  an  ingenious  and 
open  conduct  is  adapted  to  increase  these  evils.  If  they 
come,  I  must  endure  them." 

"  I  believe  your  decision  is  right.  No  one  is  so  skilful 
an  advocate  in  a  cause,  as  he  whose  cause  it  is.  I  rely 
upon  your  skill  and  address,  and  shall  leave  you  to  pur 
sue  your  own  way.  I  must  leave  you  for  a  time,  but 
shall  expect  to  be  punctually  informed  of  all  that  passes." 
With  this  agreement  we  parted,  and  I  hastened  to  per 
form  my  intended  journey. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

I  AM  glad,  my  friend,  thy  nimble  pen  has  got  so  far 
upon  its  journey.  What  remains  of  my  story  may  be 
despatched  in  a  trice.  I  have  just  now  some  vacant 
hours,  which  might  possibly  be  more  usefully  employed, 
but  not  in  an  easier  manner  or  more  pleasant.  So,  let 
me  carry  on  thy  thread. 

First,  let  me  mention  the  resolutions  I  had  formed  at  the 
time  I  parted  with  my  friend.  I  had  several  objects  in 
view.  One  was  a  conference  with  Mrs.  Wentworth; 
another  was  an  interview  with  her  whom  I  met  with  at 
Villars's.  My  heart  melted  when  I  thought  upon  the  deso 
late  condition  of  Clemenza,  and  determined  me  to  direct 
my  first  efforts  for  her  relief.  For  this  end  I  was  to 
visit  the  female  who  had  given  me  a  direction  to  her  house. 
The  name  of  this  person  is  Achsa  Fielding,  and  she  lived, 
according  to  her  own  direction,  at  No.  40  Walnut  Street. 

I  went  thither  without  delay.  She  was  not  at  home. 
Having  gained  information  from  the  servant  as  to  when 
she  might  be  found,  I  proceeded  to  Mrs.  Wentworth's. 
In  going  thither  my  mind  was  deeply  occupied  in  medi 
tation;  and,  with  my  usual  carelessness  of  forms,  I 
entered  the  house  and  made  my  way  to  the  parlour,  where 
an  interview  had  formerly  taken  place  between  us. 

Having  arrived,  I  began,  though  somewhat  unseason 
ably,  to  reflect  upon  the  topics  with  which  I  should  intro 
duce  my  conversation,  and  particularly  the  manner  in 
which  I  should  introduce  myself.  I  had  opened  doora 
without  warning,  and  traversed  passages  without  being 
noticed.  This  had  arisen  from  my  thoughtlessness. 
There  was  no  one  within  hearing  or  sight.  What  was 


138  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

next  to  be  done?  Should  I  not  return  softly  to  the 
outer  door,  and  summon  the  servant  by  knocking? 

Preparing  to  do  this,  I  heard  a  footstep  in  the  entry 
which  suspended  my  design.  I  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  floor,  attentive  to  these  movements,  when  presently 
the  door  opened,  and  there  entered  the  apartment  Mrs. 
Wentworth  herself!  She  came,  as  it  seemed,  without 
expectation  of  finding  any  one  there.  When,  therefore, 
the  figure  of  a  man  caught  her  vagrant  attention,  she 
started  and  cast  a  hasty  look  towards  me. 

"Pray !"  (in  a  peremptory  tone,)  "how  came  you  here, 
sir?  and  what  is  your  business?" 

Neither  arrogance,  on  the  one  hand,  nor  humility,  upon 
the  other,  had  any  part  in  modelling  my  deportment.  I 
came  not  to  deprecate  anger,  or  exult  over  distress.  I 
answered,  therefore,  distinctly,  firmly,  and  erectly, — 

"I  came  to  see  you,  madam,  and  converse  with  you; 
but,  being  busy  with  other  thoughts,  I  forgot  to  knock 
at  the  door.  No  evil  was  intended  by  my  negligence, 
though  propriety  has  certainly  not  been  observed.  Will 
you  pardon  this  intrusion,  and  condescend  to  grant  me 
your  attention?" 

"To  what?  What  have  you  to  say  to  me?  I  know 
you  only  as  the  accomplice  of  a  villain  in  an  attempt  to 
deceive  me.  There  is  nothing  to  justify  your  coming 
hither,  and  I  desire  you  to  leave  the  house  with  as  little 
ceremony  as  you  entered  it." 

My  eyes  were  lowered  at  this  rebuke,  yet  I  did  not  obey 
the  command.  "Your  treatment  of  me,  madam,  is  such 
as  I  appear  to  you  to  deserve.  Appearances  are  un 
favourable  to  me,  but  those  appearances  are  false.  I 
have  concurred  in  no  plot  against  your  reputation  or  your 
fortune.  I  have  told  you  nothing  but  the  truth.  I  came 
hither  to  promote  no  selfish  or  sinister  purpose.  I  have 
no  favour  to  entreat,  and  no  petition  to  oflfer,  but  that 
you  will  suft'er  me  to  clear  up  those  mistakes  which  you 
Lave  harboured  respecting  me. 

"I  am  poor.  I  am  destitute  of  fame  and  of  kindred. 
I  have  nothing  to  console  me  in  obscurity  and  indigence, 
but  the  approbation  of  my  own  heart  and  the  good  opinion 
of  those  who  know  me  as  I  am.  The  good  may  be  led 


MEMOIRS  Of  THE    YEAR  1793.  139 

to  despise  and  condemn  me.  Their  aversion  and  scorn 
shall  not  make  me  unhappy ;  but  it  is  my  interest  and  my 
duty  to  rectify  their  error  if  I  can.  I  regard  your  charac 
ter  with  esteem.  You  have  been  mistaken  in  condemn 
ing  me  as  a  liar  and  impostor,  and  I  came  to  remove 
this  mistake.  I  came,  if  not  to  procure  your  esteem,  at 
least  to  take  away  hatred  and  suspicion. 

"  But  this  is  not  all  my  purpose.  You  are  in  an  error  in 
relation  not  only  to  my  character,  but  to  the  situation  of 
your  nephew  Clavering.  I  formerly  told  you,  that  I  saw 
him  die ;  that  I  assisted  at  his  burial :  but  my  tale  was 
incoherent  and  imperfect,  and  you  have  since  received 
intelligence  to  which  you  think  proper  to  trust,  and  which 
assures  you  that  he  is  still  living.  All  I  now  ask  is  your 
attention,  while  I  relate  the  particulars  of  my  knowledge. 

"Proof  of  my  veracity  or  innocence  may  be  of  no  value 
in  your  eyes,  but  the  fate  of  your  nephew  ought  to  be 
known  to  you.  Certainty,  on  this  head,  may  be  of  much 
importance  to  your  happiness,  and  to  the  regulation  of 
your  future  conduct.  To  hear  me  patiently  can  do  you 
no  injury,  and  may  benefit  you  much.  Will  you  permit 
ine  to  go  on?" 

During  this  address,  little  abatement  of  resentment 
and  scorn  was  visible  in  my  companion. 

"I  will  hear  you,"  she  replied.  "Your  invention 
may  amuse  if  it  does  not  edify.  But,  I  pray  you,  let 
your  story  be  short." 

I  was  obliged  to  be  content  with  this  ungraceful  conces 
sion,  and  proceeded  to  begin  my  narration.  I  described 
the  situation  of  my  father's  dwelling.  I  mentioned  the 
year,  month,  day,  and  hour  of  her  nephew's  appearance 
among  us.  I  expatiated  minutely  on  his  form,  features, 
dress,  sound  of  his  voice,  and  repeated  his  words.  His 
favourite  gestures  and  attitudes  were  faithfully  described. 

I  had  gone  but  a  little  way  in  my  story,  when  the  effects 
were  visible  in  her  demeanour  which  I  expected  from  it. 
Her  knowledge  of  the  youth,  and  of  the  time  and  manner 
of  his  disappearance,  made  it  impossible  for  me,  with  so 
minute  a  narrative,  to  impose  upon  her  credulity.  Every 
word,  every  incident  related,  attested  my  truth,  by  their 
agreement  with  what  she  herself  previously  knew. 


140  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

Her  suspicious  and  angry  watchfulness  was  quickly 
exchanged  for  downcast  looks,  and  stealing  tears,  and  sighs 
difficultly  repressed.  Meanwhile,  I  did  not  pause,  hut 
described  the  treatment  he  received  from  my  mother's 
tenderness,  his  occupations,  the  freaks  of  his  insanity, 
and,  finally,  the  circumstances  of  his  death  and  funeral. 

Thence  I  hastened  to  the  circumstances  which  brought 
me  to  the  city;  which  placed  me  in  the  service  of  W el- 
beck,  and  obliged  me  to  perform  so  ambiguous  a  part  in 
her  presence.  I  left  no  difficulty  to  be  solved,  and  no 
question  unanticipated. 

"I  have  now  finished  my  story,"  I  continued,  "and 
accomplished  my  design  in  coming  hither.  Whether  I 
have  vindicated  my  integrity  from  your  suspicions,  I 
know  not.  I  have  done  what  in  me  lay  to  remove  your 
error;  and,  in  that,  have  done  my  duty.  What  more 
remains?  Any  inquiries  you  are  pleased  to  make,  I  am 
ready  to  answer.  If  there  be  none  to  make,  I  will  com 
ply  with  your  former  commands,  and  leave  the  house 
with  as  little  ceremony  as  I  entered  it." 

"Your  story,"  she  replied,  "has  been  unexpected.  I 
believe  it  fully,  and  am  sorry  for  the  hard  thoughts  which 
past  appearances  have  made  me  entertain  concerning 
you." 

Here  she  sunk  into  mournful  silence.  "  The  informa 
tion,"  she  at  length  resumed,  "which  I  have  received 
from  another  quarter  respecting  that  unfortunate  youth, 
astonishes  and  perplexes  me.  It  is  inconsistent  with 
your  story,  but  it  must  be  founded  on  some  mistake, 
which  I  am,  at  present,  unable  to  unravel.  Welbeck, 
whose  connection  has  been  so  unfortunate  to  you " 

"Unfortunate!  Dearmadam!  How  unfortunate?  It  has 
done  away  a  part  of  my  ignorance  of  the  world  in  which 
I  live.  It  has  led  me  to  the  situation  in  which  I  am  now 
placed.  It  has  introduced  me  to  the  knowledge  of  many 
good  people.  It  has  made  me  the  witness  and  the  subject 
of  many  acts  of  beneficence  and  generosity.  My  know 
ledge  of  Welbeck  has  been  useful  to  me.  It  has  enabled 
me  to  be  useful  to  others.  I  look  back  upon  that  allotment 
of  my  destiny  which  first  led  me  to  his  door,  with  grati 
tude  and  pleasure. 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  l^l 

"Would  to  heaven,"  continued  I,  somewhat  changing 
my  tone,  "intercourse  with  Wclbeck  had  been  as  harm 
less  to  all  others  as  it  has  been  to  me  !  that  no  injury  tc 
fortune  and  fame,  and  innocence  and  life,  had  been  in 
curred  by  others  greater  than  has  fallen  upon  my  head ! 
There  is  one  being,  whose  connection  with  him  has  not 
been  utterly  dissimilar  in  its  origin  and  circumstances  to 
mine,  though  the  catastrophe  has,  indeed,  been  widely 
and  mournfully  different. 

"  And  yet,  within  this  moment,  a  thought  has  occurred 
from  which  I  derive  some  consolation  and  some  hope. 
You,  dear  madam,  are  rich.  These  spacious  apartments, 
this  plentiful  accommodation,  are  yours.  You  have 
enough  for  your  own  gratification  and  convenience,  and 
somewhat  to  spare.  Will  you  take  to  your  protecting 
arms,  to  your  hospitable  roof,  an  unhappy  girl  whom  the 
arts  of  Welbeck  have  robbed  of  fortune,  reputation,  and 
honour,  who  is  now  languishing  in  poverty,  weeping  over 
the  lifeless  remains  of  her  babe,  surrounded  by  the  agents 
of  vice,  and  trembling  on  the  verge  of  infamy?" 

"  What  can  this  mean  ?"  replied  the  lady.     "  Of  whom 

j  i  •»» 

do  you  speak .' 

"  You  shall  know  her.  You  shall  be  apprized  of  her 
claims  to  your  compassion.  Her  story,  as  far  as  is 
known  to  me,  I  will  faithfully  repeat  to  you.  She  is  a 
stranger;  an  Italian;  her  name  is  Clemenza  Lodi." 

"Clemenza  Lodi!  Good  heaven!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Wentworth;  "why,  surely — it  cannot  be.  And  yet — is 
it  possible  that  you  are  that  person?" 

"I  do  not  comprehend  you,  madam." 

"A  friend  has  related  a  transaction  of  a  strange  sort. 
It  is  scarcely  an  hour  since  she  told  it  me.  The  name 
of  Clemenza  Lodi  was  mentioned  in  it.  and  a  young  man 
of  most  singular  deportment  was  described.  But  tell 
me  how  you  were  engaged  on  Thursday  morning." 

"I  was  coming  to  this  city  from  a  distance.  I  stopped 
ten  minutes  at  the  house  of " 

"Mrs.  Villars?" 

"  The  same.  Perhaps  you  know  her  and  her  charac 
ter.  Perhaps  you  can  confirm  or  rectify  my  present 
opinions  concerning  her.  It  is  there  that  the  unfortu- 


142  ARTHUR   MERVYN;    OR, 

nate  Clemenza  abides.  It  is  thence  that  I  wish  her  to 
be  speedily  removed." 

"I  have  heard  of  you;  of  your  conduct  upon  that 
occasion." 

"  Of  me?"  answered  I,  eagerly.  "  Do  you  know  that 
woman  ?"  So  saying,  I  produced  the  card  which  I  had 
received  from  her,  and  on  which  her  name  was  written. 

"I  know  her  well.  She  is  my  countrywoman  and  my 
friend." 

"Your  friend?  Then  she  is  good;  she  is  innocent; 
she  is  generous.  Will  she  be  a  sister,  a  protectress,  to 
Clemenza?  Will  you  exhort  her  to  a  deed  of  charity? 
Will  you  be,  yourself,  an  example  of  beneficence  ?  Direct 
me  to  Miss  Fielding,  I  beseech  you.  I  have  called  on 
her  already,  but  in  vain,  and  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost." 

"Why  are  you  so  precipitate?    What  would  you  do?" 

"  Take  her  away  from  that  house  instantly — bring  her 
hither — place  her  under  your  protection — give  her  Mrs. 
Wentworth  for  a  counsellor — a  friend — a  mother.  Shall 
I  do  this  ?  Shall  I  hie  thither  to-day,  this  very  hour — 
now  ?  Give  me  your  consent,  and  she  shall  be  with  you 
before  noon." 

"By  no  means,"  replied  she,  with  earnestness.  "You 
are  too  hasty.  An  affair  of  so  much  importance  cannot 
be  despatched  in  a  moment.  There  are  many  difficulties 
and  doubts  to  be  first  removed." 

"Let  them  be  reserved  for  the  future.  Withhold  not 
your  helping  hand  till  the  struggle  has  disappeared  for 
ever.  Think  on  the  gulf  that  is  already  gaping  to  swal 
low  her.  This  is  no  time  to  hesitate  and  falter.  I 
will  tell  you  her  story,  but  not  now ;  we  will  postpone  it 
till  to-morrow,  and  first  secure  her  from  impending  evils. 
She  shall  tell  it  you  herself.  In  an  hour  I  will  bring 
her  hither,  and  she  herself  shall  recount  to  you  her  sor 
rows.  Will  you  let  me  ? 

"Your  behaviour  is  extraordinary.  I  can  scarcely  toll 
whether  this  simplicity  be  real  or  affected.  One  would 
think  that  your  common  sense  would  show  you  the  impro 
priety  of  your  request.  To  admit  under  my  roof  a  woman 
notoriously  dishonoured,  and  from  an  infamous  house " 

"My  dearest  madam!     How  can  you  reflect  upon  the 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  '793-  143 

situation  without  irresistible  pity?  I  see  that  you  are 
thoroughly  aware  of  her  past  calamity  and  her  present 
danger.  Do  not  these  urge  you  to  make  haste  to  her 
relief?  Can  any  lot  be  more  deplorable  than  hers?  Can 
any  state  be  more  perilous?  Poverty  is  not  the  only  evil 
that  oppresses  or  that  threatens  her.  The  scorn  of  the 
world,  and  her  own  compunction,  the  death  of  the  fruit  of 
her  error  and  the  witness  of  her  shame,  are  not  the  worst. 
She  is  exposed  to  the  temptations  of  the  profligate;  while 
she  remains  with  Mrs.  Villars,  her  infamy  accumulates ; 
her  further  debasement  is  facilitated;  her  return  to 
reputation  and  to  virtue  is  obstructed  by  new  bars." 

"How  know  I  that  her  debasement  is  not  already 
complete  and  irremediable  ?  She  is  a  mother,  but  not  a 
wife.  How  came  she  thus  ?  Is  her  being  Welbeck's 
prostitute  no  proof  of  her  guilt?" 

"Alas!  I  know  not.  I  believe  her  not  very  culpable ; 
I  know  her  to  be  unfortunate;  to  have  been  robbed  and 
betrayed.  You  are  a  stranger  to  her  history.  I  am 
myself  imperfectly  acquainted  with  it. 

"But  let  me  tell  you  the  little  that  I  know.  Perhaps 
my  narrative  may  cause  you  to  think  of  her  as  I  do." 

She  did  not  object  to  this  proposal,  and  I  imme 
diately  recounted  all  that  I  had  gained  from  my  own 
observations,  or  from  Welbeck  himself,  respecting  this 
forlorn  girl.  Having  finished  my  narrative,  I  proceeded 
thus : — 

"Can  you  hesitate  to  employ  that  power  which  was 
given  you  for  good  ends,  to  rescue  this  sufferer?  Take 
her  to  your  home;  to  your  bosom;  to  your  confidence. 
Keep  aloof  those  temptations  which  beset  her  in  her  pre 
sent  situation.  Restore  her  to  that  purity  which  her  deso 
late  condition,  her  ignorance,  her  misplaced  gratitude  and 
the  artifices  of  a  skilful  dissembler,  have  destroyed,  if  it  be 
destroyed ;  for  how  know  we  under  what  circumstances  her 
ruin  was  accomplished  ?  With  what  pretences,  or  appear 
ances,  or  promises,  she  was  won  to  compliance?" 

"True.  I  confess  my  ignorance;  but  ought  not  that 
ignorance  to  be  removed  before  she  makes  a  part  of  my 
family?" 

"  Oh,  no  !  It  may  be  afterwards  removed.    It  cannot  be 


144  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

removed  before.  By  bringing  her  hither  you  shield  her,  at 
least,  from  future  and  possible  evils.  Here  you  can  watch 
her  conduct  and  sift  her  sentiments  conveniently  and  at 
leisure.  Should  she  prove  worthy  of  your  charity,  how 
justly  may  you  congratulate  yourself  on  your  seasonable 
efforts  in  her  cause !  If  she  prove  unworthy,  you  may 
then  demean  yourself  according  to  her  demerits." 

"I  must  reflect  upon  it. — To-morrow " 

"Let  me  prevail  on  you  to  admit  her  at  once,  and 
without  delay.  This  very  moment  may  be  the  critical  one. 
To-day  we  may  exert  ourselves  with  success,  but  to-mor 
row  all  our  efforts  may  be  fruitless.  Why  fluctuate,  why 
linger,  when  so  much  good  may  be  done,  and  no  evil  can 
possibly  be  incurred  ?  It  requires  but  a  word  from  you ; 
you  need  not  move  a  finger.  Your  house  is  large.  You 
have  chambers  vacant  and  convenient.  Consent  only 
that  your  door  shall  not  be  barred  against  her ;  that  you 
will  treat  her  with  civility:  to  carry  your  kindness  into 
effect;  to  persuade  her  to  attend  me  hither  and  to  place 
herself  in  your  care,  shall  be  my  province." 

These  and  many  similar  entreaties  arid  reasonings  were 
ineffectual.  Her  general  disposition  was  kind,  but  she 
was  unaccustomed  to  strenuous  or  sudden  exertions.  To 
admit  the  persuasions  of  such  an  advocate  to  so  uncom 
mon  a  scheme  as  that  of  sharing  her  house  with  a  crea 
ture  thus  previously  unknown  to  her,  thus  loaded  with 
suspicion  and  with  obloquy,  was  not  possible. 

1  at  last  forbore  importunity,  and  requested  her  to 
tell  me  when  I  might  expect  to  meet  with  Mrs.  Fielding 
at  her  lodgings.  Inquiry  was  made  to  what  end  I  sought 
an  interview.  I  made  no  secret  of  my  purpose. 

"Are  you  mad,  young  man?"  she  exclaimed.  "Mrs. 
Fielding  has  already  been  egregiously  imprudent.  On 
the  faith  of  an  ancient  slight  acquaintance  with  Mrs. 
Villars  in  Europe,  she  suffered  herself  to  be  decoyed 
into  a  visit.  Instead  of  taking  warning  by  numerous 
tokens  of  the  real  character  of  that  woman,  in  her  be 
haviour  and  in  that  of  her  visitants,  she  consented  to 
remain  there  one  night.  The  next  morning  took  place 
that  astonishing  interview  with  you  which  she  has  since 
described  to  me.  She  is  now  warned  against  the  like 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  145 

indiscretion.  And,  pray,  what  benevolent  scheme  would 
you  propose  to  her?" 

"Has  she  property?     Is  she  rich?" 

"  She  is.  Unhappily,  perhaps,  for  her,  she  is  absolute 
mistress  of  her  fortune,  and  has  neither  guardian  nor 
parent  to  control  her  in  the  use  of  it." 

"Has  she  virtue?  Does  she  know  the  value  of  afflu 
ence  and  a  fair  fame?  And  will  not  she  devote  a  few 
dollars  to  rescue  a  fellow-creature  from  indigence  and  in 
famy  and  vice  ?  Surely  she  will.  She  will  hazard  nothing 
by  the  boon.  I  will  be  her  almoner.  I  will  provide  the 
wretched  stranger  with  food  and  raiment  and  dwelling ;  I 
will  pay  for  all,  if  Mrs.  Fielding,  from  her  superfluity, 
will  supply  the  means.  Clemenza  shall  owe  life  and 
honour  to  your  friend,  till  I  am  able  to  supply  the  need 
ful  sum  from  my  own  stock." 

While  thus  speaking,  my  companion  gazed  at  me  with 
steadfastness: — "I  know  not  what  to  make  of  you. 
Your  language  and  ideas  are  those  of  a  lunatic.  Are 
you  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Fielding?" 

"Yes.  I  have  seen  her  two  days  ago,  and  she  has 
invited  me  to  see  her  again." 

"And  on  the  strength  of  this  acquaintance  you  expect 
to  be  her  almoner?  To  be  the  medium  of  her  charity?" 

" I  desire  to  save  her  trouble;  to  make  charity  as  light 
and  easy  as  possible.  'Twill  be  better  if  she  perform 
those  offices  herself.  'Twill  redound  more  to  the  credit 
of  her  reason  and  her  virtue.  But  I  solicit  her  benignity 
only  in  the  cause  of  Clemenza.  For  her  only  do  I  wish 
at  present  to  call  forth  her  generosity  and  pity." 

"And  do  you  imagine  she  will  intrust  her  money  to  one 
of  your  age  and  sex,  whom  she  knows  so  imperfectly,  to 
administer  to  the  wants  of  one  whom  she  found  in  such 
a  house  as  Mrs.  Villars's  ?  She  never  will.  She  mentioned 
her  imprudent  engagement  to  meet  you,  but  she  is  now 
warned  against  the  folly  of  such  confidence. 

"You  have  told  me  plausible  stories  of  yourself  and  of 
this  Clemenza.  I  cannot  say  that  I  disbelieve  them,  but  I 
know  the  ways  of  the  world  too  well  to  bestow  implicit  faith 
so  easily.  You  are  an  extraordinary  young  man.  You 
may  possibly  be  honest.  Such  a  one  as  you,  with  your 
10 


146  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

education  and  address,  may  possibly  have  passed  all  your 
life  in  a  hovel;  but  it  is  scarcely  credible,  let  me  tell 
you.  I  believe  most  of  the  facts  respecting  my  nephew, 
because  my  knowledge  of  him  before  his  flight  would 
enable  me  to  detect  your  falsehood ;  but  there  must  be 
other  proofs  besides  an  innocent  brow  and  a  voluble 
tongue,  to  make  me  give  full  credit  to  your  pretensions. 

"I  have  no  claim  upon  Welbeck  which  can  embarrass  you. 
On  that  score,  you  are  free  from  any  molestation  from  me 
or  my  friends.  I  have  suspected  you  of  being  an  accom 
plice  in  some  vile  plot,  and  am  now  inclined  to  acquit  you ; 
but  that  is  all  that  you  must  expect  from  me,  till  your 
character  be  established  by  other  means  than  your  own 
assertions.  I  am  engaged  at  present,  and  must  therefore 
request  you  to  put  an  end  to  your  visit." 

This  strain  was  much  unlike  the  strain  which  preceded 
it.  I  imagined,  by  the  mildness  of  her  tone  and  manners, 
that  her  unfavourable  prepossessions  were  removed ;  but 
they  seemed  to  have  suddenly  regained  their  pristine 
force.  I  was  somewhat  disconcerted  by  this  unexpected 
change.  I  stood  for  a  minute  silent  and  irresolute. 

Just  then  a  knock  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  presently 
entered  that  very  female  whom  I  had  met  with  at  Villars's. 
I  caught  her  figure  as  I  glanced  through  the  window. 
Mrs.  Wentworth  darted  at  me  many  significant  glances, 
which  commanded  me  to  withdraw;  but,  with  this  object 
in  view,  it  was  impossible. 

As  soon  as  she  entered,  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  me. 
Certain  recollections  naturally  occurred  at  that  moment, 
and  made  her  cheeks  glow.  Some  confusion  reigned  for 
a  moment,  but  was  quickly  dissipated.  She  did  not  notice 
me,  but  exchanged  salutations  with  her  friend. 

All  this  while  I  stood  near  the  window,  in  a  situation 
not  a  little  painful.  Certain  tremors  which  I  had  riot  been 
accustomed  to  feel,  and  which  seemed  to  possess  a  mysti 
cal  relation  to  the  visitant,  disabled  me  at  once  from  taking 
my  leave,  or  from  performing  any  useful  purpose  by  stay 
ing.  At  length,  struggling  for  composure,  I  approached 
her,  and,  showing  her  the  card  she  had  given  me,  said, — 

"Agreeably  to  this  direction,  I  called  an  hour  ago,  at 
your  lodgings.  I  found  you  not.  I  hope  you  will  per- 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793-  147 

rnit  me  to  call  once  more.  When  shall  I  expect  to  meet 
you  at  home?" 

Her  eyes  were  cast  on  the  floor.  A  kind  of  indirect 
attention  was  fixed  on  Mrs.  Wentworth,  serving  to  inti 
midate  and  check  her.  At  length  she  said,  in  an  irre 
solute  voice,  "I  shall  be  at  home  this  evening." 

"And  this  evening,"  replied  I,  "I  will  call  to  see  you." 
So  saying,  I  left  the  house. 

This  interval  was  tedious,  but  was  to  be  endured  with 
equanimity.  I  was  impatient  to  be  gone  to  Baltimore, 
and  hoped  to  be  able  to  set  out  by  the  dawn  of  next  day. 
Meanwhile,  I  was  necessarily  to  perform  something  with 
respect  to  Clemenza. 

After  dinner  I  accompanied  Mrs.  Stevens  to  visit  Misa 
Carlton.  I  was  eager  to  see  a  woman  who  could  bear 
adversity  in  the  manner  which  my  friend  had  described. 

She  met  us  at  the  door  of  her  apartment.  Her 
seriousness  was  not  abated  by  her  smiles  of  affability  and 
welcome.  "My  friend!"  whispered  I,  "how  truly  lovely 
is  this  Miss  Carlton !  Are  the  heart  and  the  intelligence 
within  worthy  of  these  features?" 

"Yes,  they  are.  The  account  of  her  employments, 
of  her  resignation  to  the  ill  fate  of  the  brother  whom 
she  loves,  proves  that  they  are." 

My  eyes  were  riveted  to  her  countenance  and  person. 
I  felt  uncontrollable  eagerness  to  speak  to  her,  and  to  gain 
her  good  opinion. 

"  You  must  know  this  young  man,  my  dear  Miss  Carl- 
ton,"  said  my  friend,  looking  at  me ;  "  he  is  my  husband's 
friend,  and  professes  a  great  desire  to  be  yours.  You 
must  not  treat  him  as  a  mere  stranger,  for  he  knows 
your  character  and  situation  already,  as  well  as  that  of 
your  brother." 

She  looked  at  me  with  benignity: — "I  accept  his 
friendship  willingly  and  gratefully,  and  shall  endeavour 
to  convince  him  that  his  good  opinion  is  not  misplaced." 

There  now  ensued  a  conversation  somewhat  general,  in 
which  this  young  woman  showed  a  mind  vigorous  from 
exercise  and  unembarrassed  by  care.  She  affected  no 
concealment  of  her  own  condition,  of  her  wants,  or  her 
comforts.  She  laid  no  stress  upon  misfortunes,  but  con- 


148  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

trived  to  deduce  some  beneficial  consequence  to  herself, 
and  some  motive  for  gratitude  to  Heaven,  from  every 
wayward  incident  that  had  befallen  her. 

This  demeanour  emboldened  me,  at  length,  to  inquire 
into  the  cause  of  her  brother's  imprisonment,  and  the 
nature  of  his  debt. 

She  answered  frankly  and  without  hesitation : — "  It  is 
a  debt  of  his  father's,  for  which  he  made  himself  respon 
sible  during  his  father's  life.  The  act  was  generous  but 
imprudent,  as  the  event  has  shown ;  though,  at  the  time, 
the  unhappy  effects  could  not  be  foreseen. 

"My  father,"  continued  she,  "was  arrested  by  his 
creditor,  at  a  time  when  the  calmness  and  comforts  of  his 
own  dwelling  were  necessary  to  his  health.  The  creditor 
was  obdurate,  and  would  release  him  upon  no  condition 
but  that  of  receiving  a  bond  from  my  brother,  by  which 
he  engaged  to  pay  the  debt  at  several  successive  times 
and  in  small  portions.  All  these  instalments  were  dis 
charged  with  great  difficulty  indeed,  but  with  sufficient 
punctuality,  except  the  last,  to  which  my  brother's  earn 
ings  were  not  adequate." 

"How  much  is  the  debt?" 

"Four  hundred  dollars." 

"And  is  the  state  of  the  creditor  such  as  to  make  the 
loss  of  four  hundred  dollars  of  more  importance  to  him 
than  the  loss  of  liberty  to  your  brother?" 

She  answered,  smiling,  "  That  is  a  very  abstract  view  of 
things.  On  such  a  question  you  and  I  might,  perhaps, 
easily  decide  in  favour  of  my  brother ;  but  would  there  not 
be  some  danger  of  deciding  partially?  His  conduct  is  a 
proof  of  his  decision,  and  there  is  no  power  to  change  it." 

"Will  not  argument  change  it?  Methinks  in  so  plain 
a  case  I  should  be  able  to  convince  him.  You  say  he  is 
rich  and  childless.  His  annual  income  is  ten  times  more 
than  this  sum.  Your  brother  cannot  pay  the  debt  while 
in  prison;  whereas,  if  at  liberty,  he  might  slowly  and 
finally  discharge  it.  If  his  humanity  would  not  yield, 
his  avarice  might  be  brought  to  acquiesce." 

"But  there  is  another  passion  which  you  would  find  it 
somewhat  harder  to  subdue,  and  that  is  his  vengeance. 
He  thinks  himself  wronged,  and  imprisons  my  brother, 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  149 

not  to  enforce  payment,  but  to  inflict  misery.  If  you 
could  persuade  him  that  there  is  no  hardship  in  im 
prisonment,  you  would  speedily  gain  the  victory;  but 
that  could  not  be  attempted  consistently  with  truth.  In 
proportion  to  my  brother's  suffering  is  his  gratification." 

"You  draw  an  odious  and  almost  incredible  portrait." 

"And  yet  such  a  one  would  serve  for  the  likeness  of 
almost  every  second  man  we  meet." 

"And  is  such  your  opinion  of  mankind  ?  Your  expe 
rience  must  surely  have  been  of  a  rueful  tenor  to  justify 
such  hard  thoughts  of  the  rest  of  your  species." 

"  By  no  means.  It  has  been  what  those  whose  situation 
disables  them  from  looking  further  than  the  surface  of 
things  would  regard  as  unfortunate;  but,  if  my  goods  and 
evils  were  equitably  balanced,  the  former  would  be  the 
weightiest.  I  have  found  kindness  and  goodness  in  great 
numbers,  but  have  likewise  met  prejudice  and  rancor  in 
many.  My  opinion  of  Farquhar  is  not  lightly  taken  up. 
I  saw  him  yesterday,  and  the  nature  of  his  motives  in 
the  treatment  of  my  brother  was  plain  enough." 

Here  this  topic  was  succeeded  by  others,  and  the  con 
versation  ceased  not  till  the  hour  had  arrived  on  which 
I  had  preconcerted  to  visit  Mrs.  Fielding.    I  left  my  two 
friends  for  this  purpose. 

I  was  admitted  to  Mrs.  Fielding's  presence  without 
scruple  or  difficulty.  There  were  two  females  in  her 
company,  and  one  of  the  other  sex,  well-dressed,  elderly, 
and  sedate  persons.  Their  discourse  turned  upon  political 
topics,  with  which,  as  yon  know,  I  have  but  slight  acquaint 
ance.  They  talked  of  fleets  and  armies,  of  Robespierre 
and  Pitt,  of  whom  I  had  only  a  newspaper-knowledge. 

In  a  short  time  the  women  rose,  and,  huddling  on  their 
cloaks,  disappeared,  in  company  with  the  gentleman. 
Being  thus  left  alone  with  Mrs.  Fielding,  some  embar 
rassment  was  mutually  betrayed.  With  much  hesitation, 
which,  however,  gradually  disappeared,  my  companion, 
at  length,  began  the  conversation : — 

"You  met  me  lately,  in  a  situation,  sir,  on  which  I  look 
back  with  trembling  and  shame,  but  not  with  any  self- 
condemnation.  I  was  led  into  it  without  any  fault,  unlesa 
a  too  hasty  confidence  may  be  styled  a  fault.  I  had  known 


150  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

Mrs. Villars  in  England,  where  she  lived  with  an  untainted 
reputation,  at  least ;  and  the  sight  of  my  countrywoman, 
in  a  foreign  land,  awakened  emotions  in  the  indulgence 
of  which  I  did  not  imagine  there  was  either  any  guilt  or 
any  danger.  She  invited  me  to  see  her  at  her  house  with 
so  much  urgency  and  warmth,  and  solicited  me  to  take 
a  place  immediately  in  a  chaise  in  which  she  had  come 
to  the  city,  that  I  too  incautiously  complied. 

"  You  are  a  stranger  to  me,  and  I  am  unacquainted  with 
your  character.  What  little  I  have  seen  of  your  deport 
ment,  and  what  little  I  have  lately  heard  concerning  you 
from  Mrs.  Wentworth,  do  not  produce  unfavourable  im 
pressions  ;  but  the  apology  I  have  made  was  due  to  my 
own  reputation,  and  should  have  been  offered  to  you  what 
ever  your  character  had  been."  There  she  stopped. 

"I  came  not  hither,"  said  I,  "to  receive  an  apology. 
Your  demeanour,  on  our  first  interview,  shielded  you  suffi 
ciently  from  any  suspicions  or  surmises  that  I  could  form. 
What  you  have  now  mentioned  was  likewise  mentioned  by 
your  friend,  and  was  fully  believed  upon  her  authority. 
My  purpose,  in  coming,  related  not  to  you,  but  to  another. 
I  desired  merely  to  interest  your  generosity  and  justice 
on  behalf  of  one  whose  destitute  and  dangerous  condition 
may  lay  claim  to  your  compassion  and  your  succour." 

"I  comprehend  you,"  said  she,  with  an  air  of  some 
perplexity.  "I  know  the  claims  of  that  person." 

"And  will  you  comply  with  them?" 

"In  what  manner  can  I  serve  her?" 

"By  giving  her  the  means  of  living." 

"Does  she  not  possess  them  already?" 

"  She  is  destitute.  Her  dependence  was  wholly  placed 
upon  one  that  is  dead,  by  whom  her  person  was  dis 
honoured  and  her  fortune  embezzled." 

"But  she  still  lives.  She  is  not  turned  into  the  street. 
She  is  not  destitute  of  home." 

"But  what  a  home  !" 

"Such  as  she  may  choose  to  remain  in." 

"She  cannot  choose  it.  She  must  not  choose  it.  She 
remains  through  ignorance,  or  through  the  incapacity  of 
leaving  it" 

"But  how  shall  she  be  persuaded  to  a  change  ?" 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  /79J-  15 1 

"I  will  persuade  her.  I  will  fully  explain  her  situa 
tion.  I  will  supply  her  with  a  new  home." 

"  You  will  persuade  her  to  go  with  you,  and  to  live  at 
a  home  of  your  providing  and  on  your  bounty  ?" 

"Certainly." 

"Would  that  change  be  worthy  of  a  cautious  person? 
Would  it  benefit  her  reputation  V  Would  it  prove  her 
love  of  independence?" 

"My  purposes  are  good.  I  know  not  why  she  should 
suspect  them.  But  I  am  only  anxious  to  be  the  instru 
ment.  Let  her  be  indebted  to  one  of  her  own  sex,  of 
unquestionable  reputation.  Admit  her  into  this  house. 
Invite  her  to  your  arms.  Cherish  and  console  her  as 
your  sister." 

"Before  I  am  convinced  that  she  deserves  it?  And 
even  then,  what  regard  shall  I,  young,  unmarried,  inde 
pendent,  affluent,  pay  to  my  own  reputation  in  harbour 
ing  a  woman  in  these  circumstances?" 

"But  you  need  not  act  yourself.  Make  me  your  agent 
and  almoner.  Only  supply  her  with  the  means  of  sub 
sistence  through  me." 

"Would  you  have  me  act  a  clandestine  part?  Hold 
meetings  with  one  of  your  sex,  and  give  him  money  for 
a  purpose  which  I  must  hide  from  the  world  ?  Is  it  worth 
while  to  be  a  dissembler  and  impostor?  And  will  not 
such  conduct  incur  more  dangerous  surmises  and  suspi 
cions  than  would  arise  from  acting  openly  and  directly? 
You  will  forgive  me  for  reminding  you,  likewise,  that  it 
is  particularly  incumbent  upon  those  in  my  situation  to 
be  circumspect  in  their  intercourse  with  men  and  with 
strangers.  This  is  the  second  time  that  I  have  seen  you. 
My  knowledge  of  you  is  extremely  dubious  and  imper 
fect,  and  such  as  would  make  the  conduct  you  prescribe 
to  me,  in  a  high  degree,  rash  and  culpable.  You  must 
not,  therefore,  expect  me  to  pursue  it." 

These  words  were  delivered  with  an  air  of  firmness 
and  dignity.  I  was  not  insensible  to  the  truth  of  her 
representations.  "I  confess,"  said  I,  "what  you  have 
said  makes  me  doubt  the  propriety  of  my  proposal ;  yet 
I  would  fain  be  of  service  to  her.  Cannot  you  point  out 
some  practicable  method?" 


152  ARTHUR  MERVYN. 

She  was  silent  and  thoughtful,  and  seemed  indisposed 
to  answer  my  question. 

"I  had  set  my  heart  upon  success  in  this  negotiation," 
continued  I,  "and  could  not  imagine  any  obstacle  to  its 
success ;  but  I  find  my  ignorance  of  the  world's  ways 
much  greater  than  I  had  previously  expected.  You  de 
fraud  yourself  of  all  the  happiness  redounding  from  the 
act  of  making  others  happy.  You  sacrifice  substance  to 
show,  and  are  more  anxious  to  prevent  unjust  aspersions 
from  lighting  on  yourself,  than  to  rescue  a  fellow-crea 
ture  from  guilt  and  infamy. 

"You  are  rich,  and  abound  in  all  the  conveniences 
and  luxuries  of  life.  A  small  portion  of  your  superfluity 
would  obviate  the  wants  of  a  being  not  less  worthy  than 
yourself.  It  is  not  avarice  or  aversion  to  labour  that 
makes  you  withhold  your  hand.  It  is  dread  of  the  sneers 
and  surmises  of  malevolence  and  ignorance. 

"  I  will  not  urge  you  further  at  present.  Your  deter 
mination  to  be  wise  should  not  be  hasty.  Think  upon 
the  subject  calmly  and  sedately,  and  form  your  resolu 
tion  in  the  course  of  three  days.  At  the  end  of  that 
period  I  will  visit  you  again."  So  saying,  arid  without 
waiting  for  comment  or  answer,  I  withdrew. 


CHAPTER   XL. 

I  MOUNTED  the  stage-coach  at  daybreak  the  next  day, 
in  company  with  a  sallow  Frenchman  from  St.  Domingo, 
his  fiddle-case,  an  ape,  and  two  female  blacks.  The 
Frenchman,  after  passing  the  suburbs,  took  out  his  violin 
and  amused  himself  with  humming  to  his  own  tweedle- 
tweedle.  The  monkey  now  and  then  munched  an  apple, 
which  was  given  to  him  from  a  basket  by  the  blacks, 
who  gazed  with  stupid  wonder,  and  an  exclamatory  La! 
La  !  upon  the  passing  scenery,  or  chattered  to  each  other 
in  a  sort  of  open-mouthed,  half-articulate,  monotonous, 
singsong  jargon. 

The  man  looked  seldom  either  on  this  side  or  that ;  and 
spoke  only  to  rebuke  the  frolics  of  the  monkey,  with  a 
"Tenez!  Dominique!  Prenez  garde  !  Diable  noir  !" 

As  to  me,  iny  thought  was  busy  in  a  thousand  ways. 
I  sometimes  gazed  at  the  faces  of  my  four  companions, 
and  endeavoured  to  discern  the  differences  and  samenesses 
between  them.  I  took  an  exact  account  of  the  features, 
proportions,  looks,  and  gestures  of  the  monkey,  the  Con 
golese,  and  the  Creole  Gaul.  I  compared  them  together, 
and  examined  them  apart.  I  looked  at  them  in  a  thou 
sand  different  points  of  view,  and  pursued,  untired  and 
unsatiated,  those  trains  of  reflections  which  began  at  each 
change  of  tone,  feature,  and  attitude. 

I  marked  the  country  as  it  successively  arose  before 
me,  and  found  endless  employment  in  examining  the 
shape  and  substance  of  the  fence,  the  barn,  and  the  cot 
tage,  the  aspect  of  earth  and  of  heaven.  How  great 
are  the  pleasures  of  health  and  of  mental  activity ! 

My  chief  occupation,  however,  related  to  the  scenes 
into  which  I  was  about  to  enter.  My  imaginations  were, 

153 


154  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

of  course,  crude  and  inadequate;  and  I  found  an  un 
common  gratification  in  comparing  realities,  as  they  suc 
cessively  occurred,  with  the  pictures  which  my  wayward 
fancy  had  depicted. 

I  will  not  describe  my  dreams.  My  proper  task  is  to 
relate  the  truth.  Neither  shall  I  dwell  upon  the  images 
suggested  by  the  condition  of  the  country  through  which 
I  passed.  I  will  confine  myself  to  mentioning  the  trans 
actions  connected  with  the  purpose  of  my  journey. 

I  reached  Baltimore  at  night.  I  was  not  so  fatigued 
but  that  I  could  ramble  through  the  town.  I  intended, 
at  present,  merely  the  gratification  of  a  stranger's  cu 
riosity.  My  visit  to  Mrs.  Watson  and  her  brother  I  de 
signed  should  take  place  on  the  morrow.  The  evening 
of  my  arrival  I  deemed  an  unseasonable  time. 

While  roving  about,  however,  it  occurred  to  me,  that 
it  might  not  be  impolitic  to  find  the  way  to  their  habita 
tion  even  now.  My  purposes  of  general  curiosity  would 
equally  be  served  whichever  way  my  steps  were  bent ; 
and  to  trace  the  path  to  their  dwelling  would  save  me  the 
trouble  of  inquiries  and  interrogations  to-morrow. 

When  I  looked  forward  to  an  interview  with  the  wife 
of  Watson,  and  to  the  subject  which  would  be  necessarily 
discussed  at  that  interview,  I  felt  a  trembling  and  mis 
giving  at  my  heart.  "Surely,"  thought  I,  "it  will  be 
come  me  to  exercise  immeasurable  circumspection  and 
address;  and  yet  how  little  are  these  adapted  to  the 
impetuosity  and  candour  of  my  nature ! 

"How  am  I  to  introduce  myself?  What  am  I  to  tell 
her  ?  That  I  was  a  sort  of  witness  to  the  murder  of  her 
husband  ?  That  I  received  from  the  hand  of  his  assassin 
the  letter  which  I  afterwards  transmitted  to  her?  and, 
from  the  same  hands,  the  bills  contained  in  his  girdle? 

"  How  will  she  start  and  look  aghast !  What  suspi 
cions  will  she  harbour  ?  What  inquiries  shall  be  made 
of  me  ?  How  shall  they  be  disarmed  and  eluded,  or 
answered?  Deep  consideration  will  be  necessary  before 
I  trust  myself  to  such  an  interview.  The  coming  night 
shall  be  devoted  to  reflection  upon  this  subject." 

From  these  thoughts  I  proceeded  to  inquiries  for  the 
street  mentioned  in  the  advertisement,  where  Mi*.  Wat- 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793-  155 

son  was  said  to  reside.  The  street,  and,  at  length,  the 
habitation,  was  found.  Having  reached  a  station  oppo 
site,  I  paused  and  surveyed  the  mansion.  It  was  a 
wooden  edifice  of  two  stories,  humble,  but  neat.  You 
ascended  to  the  door  by  several  stone  steps.  Of  the  two 
lower  windows,  the  shutters  of  one  were  closed,  but 
those  of  the  other  were  open.  Though  late  in  the  even 
ing,  there  was  no  appearance  of  light  or  fire  within. 

Beside  the  house  was  a  painted  fence,  through  which 
was  a  gate  leading  to  the  back  of  the  building.  Guided 
by  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  I  crossed  the  street  to  the 
gate,  and,  lifting  the  latch,  entered  the  paved  alley,  on 
one  side  of  which  was  a  paled  fence,  and  on  the  other 
the  house,  looking  through  two  windows  into  the  alley. 

The  first  window  was  dark  like  those  in  front;  but  at 
the  second  a  light  was  discernible.  I  approached  it, 
and,  looking  through,  beheld  a  plain  but  neat  apartment, 
in  which  parlour,  kitchen,  and  nursery  seemed  to  be 
united.  A  fire  burned  cheerfully  in  the  chimney,  over 
which  was  a  tea-kettle.  On  the  hearth  sat  a  smiling  and 
playful  cherub  of  a  boy,  tossing  something  to  a  black 
girl  who  sat  opposite,  and  whose  innocent  and  regular 
features  wanted  only  a  different  hue  to  make  them  beau 
tiful.  Near  it,  in  a  rocking-chair,  with  a  sleeping  babe 
in  her  lap,  sat  a  female  figure  in  plain  but  neat  and  be 
coming  attire.  Her  posture  permitted  half  her  face  to  be 
seen,  and  saved  me  from  any  danger  of  being  observed. 

This  countenance  was  full  of  sweetness  and  benig 
nity,  but  the  sadness  that  veiled  its  lustre  was  profound. 
Her  eyes  were  now  fixed  upon  the  fire  and  were  moist 
with  the  tears  of  remembrance,  while  she  sung,  in  low 
and  scarcely-audible  strains,  an  artless  lullaby. 

This  spectacle  exercised  a  strange  power  over  my 
feelings.  While  occupied  in  meditating  on  the  features 
of  the  mother,  I  was  unaware  of  my  conspicuous  situa 
tion.  The  black  girl,  having  occasion  to  change  her 
situation,  in  order  to  reach  the  ball  which  was  thrown  at 
her,  unluckily  caught  a  glance  of  my  figure  through  the 
glass.  In  a  tone  of  half  surprise  and  half  terror,  she 
cried  out,  "Oh!  see  dare!  a  man  !' 

I  was  tempted  to  draw  suddenly  back,  but  a  second 


156  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

thought  showed  me  the  impropriety  of  departing  thaa 
abruptly  and  leaving  behind  me  some  alarm.  I  felt  a 
sort  of  necessity  for  apologizing  for  my  intrusion  into 
these  precincts,  and  hastened  to  a  door  that  led  into  the 
same  apartment.  I  knocked.  A  voice  somewhat  con 
fused  bade  me  enter.  It  was  not  till  I  opened  the  door 
and  entered  the  room,  that  I  fully  saw  in  what  embar 
rassments  I  had  incautiously  involved  myself. 

I  could  scarcely  obtain  sufficient  courage  to  speak,  and 
gave  a  confused  assent  to  the  question,  "Have  you  busi 
ness  with  me,  sir?"  She  offered  me  a  chair,  and  I  sat 
down.  She  put  the  child,  not  yet  awakened,  into  the 
arms  of  the  black,  who  kissed  it  and  rocked  it  in  her  arms 
with  great  satisfaction,  and,  resuming  her  seat,  looked  at 
me  with  inquisitiveness  mingled  with  complacency. 

After  a  moment's  pause,  I  said,  "  I  was  directed  to 
this  house  as  the  abode  of  Mr.  Ephraim  Williams.  Can 
he  be  seen,  madam?" 

"  He  is  not  in  town  at  present.  If  you  will  leave  a 
message  with  me,  I  will  punctually  deliver  it." 

The  thought  suddenly  occurred,  whether  any  more  was 
needful  than  merely  to  leave  the  bills  suitably  enclosed, 
as  they  already  were,  in  a  packet.  Thus  all  painful  ex 
planations  might  be  avoided,  and  I  might  have  reason  to 
congratulate  myself  on  his  seasonable  absence.  Actu 
ated  by  these  thoughts,  I  drew  forth  the  packet,  and  put 
it  into  her  hand,  saying,  "I  will  leave  this  in  your  pos 
session,  and  must  earnestly  request  you  to  keep  it  safe 
until  you  can  deliver  it  into  his  own  hands." 

Scarcely  had  I  said  this  before  new  suggestions  oc 
curred.  Was  it  right  to  act  in  this  clandestine  and  mys 
terious  manner  ?  Should  I  leave  these  persons  in  un 
certainty  respecting  the  fate  of  a  husband  and  a  brother  ? 
What  perplexities,  misunderstandings,  and  suspenses 
might  not  grow  out  of  this  uncertainty  ?  and  ought  they 
not  to  be  precluded  at  any  hazard  to  my  own  safety  or 
good  name? 

These  sentiments  made  me  involuntarily  stretch  forth 
my  hand  to  retake  the  packet.  This  gesture,  and  other 
significances  in  my  manners,  joined  to  a  trembling  con 
sciousness  in  herself,  filled  my  companion  with  all  the 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  I  $7 

tokens  of  confusion  and  fear.  She  alternately  looked  at  mo 
and  at  the  paper.  Her  trepidation  increased,  and  she  grew 
pale.  These  emotions  were  counteracted  by  a  strong  effort. 

At  length  she  said,  falteringly,  "I  will  take  good  care 
of  them,  and  will  give  them  to  my  brother." 

She  rose  and  placed  them  in  a  drawer,  after  which 
she  resumed  her  seat. 

On  this  occasion  all  my  wariness  forsook  me.  I  can 
not  explain  why  my  perplexity  and  the  trouble  of  my 
thoughts  were  greater  upon  this  than  upon  similar  occa 
sions.  However  it  be,  I  was  incapable  of  speaking,  and 
fixed  my  eyes  upon  the  floor.  A  sort  of  electrical  sym 
pathy  pervaded  my  companion,  and  terror  and  anguish 
were  strongly  manifested  in  the  glances  which  she  some 
times  stole  at  me.  We  seemed  fully  to  understand  each 
other  without  the  aid  of  words. 

This  imbecility  could  not  last  long.  I  gradually  re 
covered  my  composure,  and  collected  my  scattered 
thoughts.  I  looked  at  her  with  seriousness,  and  stead 
fastly  spoke: — "Arc  you  the  wife  of  Amos  Watson?" 

She  started: — "I  am  indeed.  Why  do  you  ask?  Do 
you  know  any  thing  of ?"  There  her  voice  failed. 

I  replied  with  quickness,  "  Yes.  I  am  fully  acquainted 
with  his  destiny." 

"Good  God!"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  paroxysm  of  sur 
prise,  and  bending  eagerly  forward,  "my  husband  is 
then  alive !  This  packet  is  from  him.  Where  is  he  ? 
When  have  you  seen  him  ?" 

"'Tis  a  long  time  since." 

"  But  where,  where  is  he  now  ?  Is  he  well  ?  Will  he 
return  to  me?" 

"Never." 

"Merciful  Heaven  !"  (looking  upwards  and  clasping 
her  hands,)  "I  thank  thee  at  least  for  his  life!  But 
why  has  he  forsaken  me?  Why  will  he  not  return?" 

"For  a  good  reason,"  said  I,  with  augmented  so 
lemnity,  "he  will  never  return  to  thee.  Long  ago  was 
he  laid  in  the  cold  grave." 

She  shrieked ;  and,  at  the  next  moment,  sunk  in  a 
swoon  upon  the  floor.  I  was  alarmed.  The  two  chil 
dren  shrieked,  and  ran  about  the  room  terrified  and  un- 


158  ARTHUR  MERVYN. 

knowing  what  they  did.  I  was  overwhelmed  with  some 
what  like  terror,  yet  I  involuntarily  raised  the  mother 
in  my  arms,  and  cast  about  for  the  means  of  recalling 
her  from  this  fit. 

Time  to  effect  this  had  not  elapsed,  when  several  per 
sons,  apparently  Mrs.  Watson's  neighbours,  and  raised 
by  the  outcries  of  the  girls,  hastily  entered  the  room. 
They  looked  at  me  with  mingled  surprise  and  suspi 
cion  ;  but  my  attitude,  being  not  that  of  an  injurer  but 
helper ;  my  countenance,  which  showed  the  pleasure  their 
entrance,  at  this  critical  moment,  afforded  me ;  and  my 
words,  in  which  I  besought  their  assistance,  and  ex 
plained,  in  some  degree,  and  briefly,  the  cause  of  those 
appearances,  removed  their  ill  thoughts. 

Presently,  the  unhappy  woman,  being  carried  by  the 
new-comers  into  a  bedroom  adjoining,  recovered  her 
sensibility.  I  only  waited  for  this.  I  had  done  my 
part.  More  information  would  be  useless  to  her,  and 
not  to  be  given  by  me,  at  least  in  the  present  audience, 
without  embarrassment  and  peril.  I  suddenly  deter 
mined  to  withdraw,  and  this,  the  attention  of  the  com 
pany  being  otherwise  engaged,  I  did  without  notice.  I 
returned  to  my  inn,  and  shut  myself  up  in  my  chamber. 
Such  was  the  change  which,  undesigned,  unforeseen,  half 
an  hour  had  wrought  in  my  situation.  My  cautious  pro 
jects  had  perished  in  their  conception.  That  which  I 
had  deemed  so  arduous,  to  require  such  circumspect 
approaches,  such  well-concerted  speeches,  was  done. 

I  had  started  up  before  this  woman  as  if  from  the 
pores  of  the  ground.  I  had  vanished  with  the  same 
celerity,  but  had  left  her  in  possession  of  proofs  sufficient 
that  I  was  neither  spectre  nor  demon.  "1  will  visit  her," 
said  I,  "again.  I  will  see  her  brother,  and  know  the 
full  effect  of  my  disclosure.  I  will  tell  them  all  that  I 
myself  know.  Ignorance  would  be  no  less  injurious  to 
them  than  to  myself;  but,  first,  I  will  see  the  Maurices.'' 


CHAPTER   XLI. 

NEXT  morning  I  arose  betimes,  and  equipped  myself 
without  delay.  I  had  eight  or  ten  miles  to  walk,  so  far 
from  the  town  being  the  residence  of  these  people ;  and 
I  forthwith  repaired  to  their  dwelling.  The  persons 
whom  I  desired  to  see  were  known  to  me  only  by  name, 
and  by  their  place  of  abode.  It  was  a  mother  and  her 
three  daughters  to  whom  I  now  carried  the  means  not 
only  of  competence  but  riches ;  means  which  they,  no 
doubt,  had  long  ago  despaired  of  regaining,  and  which, 
among  all  possible  messengers,  one  of  my  age  and  guise 
would  be  the  least  suspected  of  being  able  to  restore. 

I  arrived,  through  intricate  ways,  at  eleven  o'clock,  at 
the  house  of  Mrs.  Maurice.  It  was  a  neat  dwelling,  in 
a  very  fanciful  and  rustic  style,  in  the  bosom  of  a  valley, 
which,  when  decorated  by  the  verdure  and  blossoms  of 
the  coming  season,  must  possess  many  charms.  At  pre 
sent  it  was  naked  and  dreary. 

As  I  approached  it,  through  a  long  avenue,  I  observed 
two  female  figures,  walking  arm-in-arm  and  slowly  to  and 
fro,  in  the  path  in  which  I  now  was.  "These,"  said  I, 
"  are  daughters  of  the  family.  Graceful,  well-dressed, 
fashionable  girls  they  seem  at  this  distance.  May  they 
be  deserving  of  the  good  tidings  which  I  bring  !"  Seeing 
them  turn  towards  the  house,  I  mended  my  pace,  that  I 
might  overtake  them  and  request  their  introduction  of 
me  to  their  mother. 

As  I  more  nearly  approached,  they  again  turned  ; 
and,  perceiving  me,  they  stood  as  if  in  expectation  of 
my  message.  I  went  up  to  them. 

A  single  glance,  cast  at  each,  made  me  suspect  that 
they  were  not  sisters ;  but,  somewhat  to  my  disappoint 
ment,  there  was  nothing  highly  prepossessing  in  the 

159 


l6o  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

countenance  of  either.  They  were  what  is  every  day 
met  with,  though  less  embellished  by  brilliant  drapery 
and  turban,  in  markets  and  streets.  An  air  somewhat 
haughty,  somewhat  supercilious,  lessened  still  more  their 
attractions.  These  detects,  however,  were  nothing  to  me. 

I  inquired,  of  her  that  seemed  to  be  the  elder  of  the 
two,  for  Mrs.  Maurice. 

"She  is  indisposed,"  was  the  cold  reply. 

"That  is  unfortunate.     Is  it  not  possible  to  see  her?" 

"No;"  with  still  more  gravity. 

I  was  somewhat  at  a  loss  how  to  proceed.  A  pause 
ensued.  At  length  the  same  lady  resumed,  "  What's  your 
business?  You  can  leave  your  message  with  me." 

"With  nobody  but  her.  If  she  be  not  very  indis 
posed " 

"She  is  very  indisposed,"  interrupted  she,  peevishly. 
"  If  you  cannot  leave  your  message,  you  may  take  it 
back  again,  for  she  must  not  be  disturbed." 

This  was  a  singular  reception.  I  was  disconcerted 
and  silent.  I  knew  not  what  to  say.  "Perhaps,"  I  at 
last  observed,  "some  other  time " 

"No,"  (with  increasing  heat,)  "no  other  time.  She 
is  more  likely  to  be  worse  than  better.  Come,  Betsy," 
said  she,  taking  hold  of  her  companion's  arm ;  and, 
hieing  into  the  house,  shut  the  door  after  her,  and  dis 
appeared.  I  stood,  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps,  con 
founded  at  such  strange  and  unexpected  treatment.  I 
could  not  withdraw  till  my  purpose  was  accomplished. 
After  a  moment's  pause,  I  stepped  to  the  door,  and 
pulled  the  bell.  A  negro  came,  of  a  very  unpropitious 
aspect,  and,  opening  the  door,  looked  at  me  in  silence. 
To  my  question,  Was  Mrs.  Maurice  to  be  seen  ?  he  made 
gome  answer,  in  a  jargon  which  I  could  not  understand ; 
but  his  words  were  immediately  followed  by  an  unseen 
person  within  the  house  : — "  Mrs.  Maurice  can't  be  seen 
by  anybody.  Come  in,  Cato,  and  shut  the  door."  This 
injunction  was  obeyed  by  Cato  without  ceremony. 

Here  was  a  dilemma !  I  came  with  ten  thousand 
pounds  in  my  hands,  to  bestow  freely  on  these  people, 
and  such  was  the  treatment  I  received.  "I  must  adopt," 
said  I,  "a  new  mode." 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  l6l 

I  lifted  the  latch,  without  a  second  warning,  and,  Cato 
having  disappeared,  went  into  a  room,  the  door  of  which 
chanced  to  be  open,  on  my  right  hand.  I  found  within 
the  two  females  whom  I  had  accosted  in  the  portico.  I 
now  addressed  myself  to  the  younger  : — "  This  intrusion, 
when  I  have  explained  the  reason  of  it,  will,  I  hope,  be 
forgiven.  I  come,  madam " 

"Yes,"  interrupted  the  other,  with  a  countenance  suf 
fused  by  indignation,  "  I  know  very  well  whom  you  come 
from,  and  what  it  is  that  prompts  this  insolence ;  but 
your  employer  shall  see  that  we  have  not  sunk  so  low  as 
he  imagines.  Cato  !  Bob  !  I  say." 

"My  employer,  madam  !  I  see  you  labour  under  some 
great  mistake.  I  have  no  employer.  I  come  from  a 
great  distance.  I  come  to  bring  intelligence  of  the 
utmost  importance  to  your  family.  I  come  to  benefit 
and  not  to  injure  you." 

By  this  time,  Bob  and  Cato,  two  sturdy  blacks,  entered 
the  room.  "Turn  this  person,"  said  the  imperious  lady, 
regardless  of  ray  explanations,  "  out  of  the  house.  Don't 
you  hear  me  ?"  she  continued,  observing  that  they  looked 
one  upon  the  other  and  hesitated. 

"Surely,  madam,"  said  I,  "you  are  precipitate.  You 
are  treating  like  an  enemy  one  who  will  prove  himself 
your  mother's  best  friend." 

"Will  you  leave  the  house?"  she  exclaimed,  quite 
beside  herself  with  anger.  "Villains!  why  don't  you 
do  as  1  bid  you  ?" 

The  blacks  looked  upon  each  other,  as  if  waiting  for 
an  example.  Their  habitual  deference  for  every  thing 
white,  no  doubt,  held  their  hands  from  what  they  re 
garded  as  a  profanation.  At  last  Bob  said,  in  a  whining, 
beseeching  tone,  "Why,  missee,  massa  buckra  wanna  go 
for  doo,  dan  he  winna  go  fo'  wee." 

The  lady  now  burst  into  tears  of  rage.  She  held  out 
her  hand,  menacingly.  "Will  you  leave  the  house?" 

"Not  willingly,"  said  I,  in  a  mild  tone.  "I  came  too 
far  to  return  with  the  business  that  brought  me  unper 
formed.  I  am  persuaded,  madam,  you  mistake  my  cha 
racter  and  my  views.  I  have  a  message  to  deliver  your 
mother  which  deeply  concerns  her  and  your  happiness, 
11 


1 62  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

if  you  are  her  daughter.  I  merely  wished  to  see  her, 
and  leave  with  her  a  piece  of  important  news ;  news  in 
which  her  fortune  is  deeply  interested." 

These  words  had  a  wonderful  effect  upon  the  young 
lady.  Her  anger  was  checked.  "Good  God!"  she  ex 
claimed,  "are  you  Watson?" 

"  No ;  I  am  only  Watson's  representative,  and  come 
to  do  all  that  Watson  could  do  if  he  were  present." 

She  was  now  importunate  to  know  my  business. 

"My  business  lies  with  Mrs.  Maurice.  Advertise 
ments,  which  I  have  seen,  direct  me  to  her,  and  to  this 
house;  and  to  her  only  shall  I  deliver  my  message." 

"Perhaps,"  said  she,  with  a  face  of  apology,  "I have 
mistaken  you.  Mrs.  Maurice  is  my  mother.  She  is 
really  indisposed,  but  I  can  stand  in  her  place  on  this 
occasion." 

"  You  cannot  represent  her  in  this  instance.  If  I  can 
not  have  access  to  her  now,  I  must  go ;  and  shall  return 
when  you  are  willing  to  grant  it." 

"Nay,"  replied  she,  "she  is  not,  perhaps,  so  very  sick 
but  that  I  will  go,  and  see  if  she  will  admit  you."  So 
saying,  she  left  me  for  three  minutes ;  and,  returning, 
said  her  mother  wished  to  see  me. 

I  followed  up-stairs,  at  her  request ;  and,  entering  an 
ill-furnished  chamber,  found,  seated  in  an  arm-chair,  a 
lady  seemingly  in  years,  pale,  and  visibly  infirm.  The 
lines  of  her  countenance  were  far  from  laying  claim  to 
my  reverence.  It  was  too  much  like  the  (laughter's. 

She  looked  at  me,  at  my  entrance,  with  great  eagerness, 
and  said,  in  a  sharp  tone,  "  Pray,  friend,  what  is  it  you  want 
with  me?  Make  haste;  tell  your  story,  and  begone." 

"My  story  is  a  short  one,  and  easily  told.  Amos 
Watson  was  your  agent  in  Jamaica.  He  sold  an  estate 
belonging  to  you,  and  received  the  money." 

"He  did,"  said  she,  attempting  ineffectually  to  rise 
from  her  seat,  and  her  eyes  beaming  with  a  significance 
that  shocked  me ;  "  he  did,  the  villain,  and  purloined  the 
money,  to  the  ruin  of  me  and  my  daughters.  But  if  there 
be  justice  on  earth  it  will  overtake  him.  I  trust  I  shall 
have  the  pleasure  one  day — I  hope  to  hear  he's  hanged. 
Well,  but  go  on,  friend.  He  did  sell  it,  I  tell  you." 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  /79J.  163 

"He  sold  it  for  ten  thousand  pounds,"  I  resumed, 
"  and  invested  this  sum  in  bills  of  exchange.  Watson  is 
dead.  These  bills  came  into  my  hands.  I  was  lately 
informed,  by  the  public  papers,  who  were  the  real 
owners,  and  have  come  from  Philadelphia  with  no 
other  view  than  to  restore  them  to  you.  There  they 
are,"  continued  I,  placing  them  in  her  lap,  entire  and 
untouched. 

She  seized  the  papers,  and  looked  at  me  and  at  her 
daughter,  by  turns,  with  an  air  of  one  suddenly  bewil 
dered.  She  seemed  speechless,  and,  growing  suddenly 
more  ghastly  pale,  leaned  her  head  back  upon  the  chair. 
The  daughter  screamed,  and  hastened  to  support  the 
languid  parent,  who  difficultly  articulated,  "  Oh,  I  am 
sick  ;  sick  to  death.  Put  me  on  the  bed." 

I  was  astonished  and  affrighted  at  this  scene.  Some 
of  the  domestics,  of  both  colours,  entered,  and  gazed  at 
me  with  surprise.  Involuntarily  I  withdrew,  and  re 
turned  to  the  room  below,  into  which  I  had  first  entered, 
and  which  I  now  found  deserted. 

I  was  for  some  time  at  a  loss  to  guess  at  the  cause  of 
these  appearances.  At  length  it  occurred  to  me,  that 
joy  was  the  source  of  the  sickness  that  had  seized  Mrs. 
Maurice.  The  abrupt  recovery  of  what  had  probably 
been  deemed  irretrievable  would  naturally  produce  this 
effect  upon  a  mind  of  a  certain  texture. 

I  was  deliberating  whether  to  stay  or  go,  when  the 
daughter  entered  the  room,  and,  after  expressing  some 
surprise  at  seeing  me,  whom  she  supposed  to  have  re 
tired,  told  me  that  her  mother  wished  to  see  me  again 
before  my  departure.  In  this  request  there  was  no 
kindness.  All  was  cold,  supercilious,  and  sullen.  I 
obeyed  the  summons  without  speaking. 

I  found  Mrs.  Maurice  seated  in  her  arm-chair,  much 
in  her  former  guise.  Without  desiring  me  to  be  seated, 
or  relaxing  aught  in  her  asperity  of  looks  and  tones, — 
"Pray,  friend,  how  did  you  come  by  these  papers?" 

"I  assure  you,  madam,  they  were  honestly  come  by" 
answered  I,  sedately  and  with  half  a  smile  ;  "but,  if  the 
whole  is  there  that  was  missing,  the  mode  and  time  in 


164  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    ORt 

which  they  came  to  me  is  matter  of  concern  only  to  my 
self.  Is  there  any  deficiency  ?" 

"I  am  not  sure.  I  don't  know  much  of  these  matters. 
There  may  be  less.  I  dare  say  there  is.  I  shall  know 
that  soon.  I  expect  a  friend  of  mine  every  minute  who 
will  look  them  over.  I  don't  doubt  you  can  give  a  good 
account  of  yourself." 

"I  doubt  not  but  I  can — to  those  who  have  a  right  to 
demand  it.  In  this  case,  curiosity  must  be  very  urgent 
indeed  before  I  shall  consent  to  gratify  it." 

"  You  must  know  this  is  a  suspicious  case.  Watson, 
to-be-sure,  embezzled  the  money  ;  to-be-sure,  you  are  his 
accomplice." 

"Certainly,"  said  I,  "my  conduct,  on  this  occasion, 
proves  that.  What  I  have  brought  to  you,  of  my  own 
accord ;  what  I  have  restored  to  you,  fully  and  uncon 
ditionally,  it  is  plain  Watson  embezzled,  and  that  I  was 
aiding  in  the  fraud.  To  restore  what  was  never  stolen 
always  betrays  the  thief.  To  give  what  might  be  kept 
without  suspicion  is,  without  doubt,  arrant  knavery.  To 
be  serious,  madam,  in  coming  thus  far,  for  this  purpose, 
I  have' done  enough;  and  must  now  bid  you  farewell." 

"Nay,  don't  go  yet.  I  have  something  more  to  say 
to  you.  My  friend,  I'm  sure,  will  be  here  presently. 
There  he  is;"  (noticing  a  peal  upon  the  bell.)  "Polly, 
go  down,  and  see  if  that's  Mr.  Somers.  If  it  is,  bring 
him  up."  The  daughter  went. 

I  walked  to  the  window  absorbed  in  my  own  reflections. 
I  was  disappointed  and  dejected.  The  scene  before  me 
was  the  unpleasing  reverse  of  all  that  my  fancy,  while 
coining  hither,  had  foreboded.  I  expected  to  find  virtuous 
indigence  and  sorrow  lifted,  by  my  means,  to  affluence  and 
exultation.  I  expected  to  witness  the  tears  of  grati 
tude  and  the  caresses  of  affection.  What  had  I  found  ? 
Nothing  but  sordiduess,  stupidity,  and  illiberal  suspicion. 

The  daughter  stayed  much  longer  than  the  mother's  pa 
tience  could  endure.  She  knocked  against  the  floor  with 
her  heel.  A  servant  came  up.  "Where's  Polly,  you  slut? 
It  was  not  you,  hussy,  that  I  wanted.  It  was  her." 

"  She  is  talking  in  the  parlour  with  a  gentleman." 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR   /79J.  165 

"  Mr.  Somers,  I  suppose ;  hey,  fool  ?  Run  with  my 
compliments  to  him,  wench.  Tell  him,  please  walk  up." 

"It  is  not  Mr.  Somers,  ma'am." 

"No?     Who  then,  saucebox?     What  gentleman  can 
have  any  thing  to  do  with  Polly?" 
'I  don't  know,  ma'am." 

"  Who  said  you  did,  impertinence  ?  Run,  and  tell  her 
I  want  her  this  instant." 

The  summons  was  not  delivered,  or  Polly  did  not  think 
proper  to  obey  it.  Full  ten  minutes  of  thoughtful  silence 
on  my  part,  and  of  muttered  vexation  and  impatience  on 
that  of  the  old  lady,  elapsed  before  Polly's  entrance.  As 
soon  as  she  appeared,  the  mother  began  to  complain  bit 
terly  of  her  inattention  and  neglect ;  but  Polly,  taking  no 
notice  of  her,  addressed  herself  to  me,  and  told  me  that 
a  gentleman  below  wished  to  see  me.  I  hastened  down, 
and  found  a  stranger,  of  a  plain  appearance,  in  the  par 
lour.  His  aspect  was  liberal  and  ingenuous ;  and  I  quickly 
collected,  from  his  discourse,  that  this  was  the  brother-in- 
law  of  Watson,  and  the  companion  of  his  last  voyage. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

MY  eyes  sparkled  with  pleasure  at  this  unexpected 
interview,  and  I  willingly  confessed  my  desire  to  com 
municate  all  the  knowledge  of  his  brother's  destiny 
which  I  possessed.  He  told  me,  that,  returning  late  to 
Baltimore,  on  the  last  evening,  he  found  his  sister  in 
much  agitation  and  distress,  which,  after  a  time,  she  ex 
plained  to  him.  She  likewise  put  the  packets  I  had  left 
into  his  hands. 

'I  leave  you  to  imagine,"  continued  he,  "my  surprise 
and  curiosity  at  this  discovery.  I  was,  of  course,  im 
patient  to  see  the  bearer  of  such  extraordinary  tidings. 
This  morning,  inquiring  for  one  of  your  appearance  at 
the  taverns,  I  was,  at  length,  informed  of  your  arrival 
yesterday  in  the  stage ;  of  your  going  out  alone  in  the 
evening  ;  of  your  subsequent  return  ;  and  of  your  early 
departure  this  morning.  Accidentally  I  lighted  on  your 
footsteps ;  and,  by  suitable  inquiries  on  the  road,  have 
finally  traced  you  hither. 

"  You  told  my  sister  her  husband  was  dead.  You  left 
with  her  papers  that  were  probably  in  his  possession  at 
the  time  of  his  death.  I  understand  from  Miss  Maurice 
that  the  bills  belonging  to  her  mother  have  just  been 
delivered  to  her.  I  presume  you  have  no  objection  to 
clear  up  this  mystery." 

"To  you  I  am  anxious  to  unfold  every  thing.  At  this 
moment,  or  at  any  time,  but  the  sooner  the  more  agree 
able  to  me,  I  will  do  it." 

"This,"  said  he,  looking  around  him,  "is  no  place; 

there  is  an  inn,  not  a  hundred  yards  from  this  gate,  where 

I  have  left  my  horse;  will  you  go  thither?"     I  readily 

consented,  and,  calling  for  a  private  apartment,  I  laid 

166 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR   1793.  1 67 

before  this  man  every  incident  of  my  life  connected  "with 
Welbeck  and  Watson ;  my  full,  circumstantial,  and  ex 
plicit  story  appeared  to  remove  every  doubt  which  he 
might  have  entertained  of  my  integrity. 

In  Williams  I  found  a  plain,  good  man,  of  a  temper 
confiding  and  affectionate.  My  narration  being  finished, 
he  expressed,  by  unaffected  tokens,  his  wonder  and  his 
grief  on  account  of  Watson's  destiny.  To  my  inquiries, 
which  were  made  with  frankness  and  fervour,  respecting 
his  own  and  his  sister's  condition,  he  said  that  the  situa 
tion  of  both  was  deplorable  till  the  recovery  of  this  pro 
perty.  They  had  been  saved  from  utter  ruin,  from  beg 
gary  and  a  jail,  only  by  the  generosity  and  lenity  of  his 
creditors,  who  did  not  suffer  the  suspicious  circumstances 
attending  Watson's  disappearance  to  outweigh  former 
proofs  of  his  probity.  They  had  never  relinquished  the 
hopes  of  receiving  some  tidings  of  their  kinsman. 

I  related  what  had  just  passed  in  the  house  of  Mrs. 
Maurice,  and  requested  to  know  from  him  the  history 
and  character  of  this  family. 

"They  have  treated  you,"  he  answered,  "exactly  as 
any  one  who  knew  them  would  have  predicted.  The 
mother  is  narrow,  ignorant,  bigoted,  and  avaricious.  The 
eldest  daughter,  whom  you  saw,  resembles  the  old  lady 
in  many  things.  Age,  indeed,  may  render  the  similitude 
complete.  At  present,  pride  and  ill-humour  are  her 
chief  characteristics. 

"  The  youngest  daughter  has  nothing  in  mind  or  person 
in  common  with  her  family.  Where  they  are  irascible,  she 
is  patient ;  where  they  are  imperious,  she  is  humble ;  where 
they  are  covetous,  she  is  liberal ;  where  they  are  ignorant 
and  indolent,  she  is  studious  and  skilful.  It  is  rare,  indeed, 
to  find  a  young  lady  more  amiable  than  Miss  Fanny  Mau 
rice,  or  who  has  had  more  crosses  and  afflictions  to  sustain. 

"  The  eldest  daughter  always  extorted  the  supply  of 
her  wants,  from  her  parents,  by  threats  and  importunities; 
but  the  younger  could  never  be  prevailed  upon  to  employ 
the  same  means,  and,  hence,  she  suffered  iiiconveniei  ces 
which,  to  any  other  girl,  born  to  an  equal  rank,  wo  ild 
have  been,  to  the  last  degree,  humiliating  and  vexatious. 
To  her  they  only  afforded  new  opportunities,  for  the  dis- 


1 68  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

play  of  her  most  shining  virtues, — fortitude  and  charity. 
No  instance  of  their  sordidness  or  tyranny  ever  stole  a 
murmur  from  her.  For  what  they  had  given,  existence 
and  a  virtuous  education,  she  said  they  were  entitled  to 
gratitude.  What  they  withheld  was  their  own,  in  the 
use  of  which  they  were  not  accountable  to  her.  She  was 
not  ashamed  to  owe  her  subsistence  to  her  own  industry, 
and  was  only  held  by  the  pride  of  her  family — in  this 
instance  their  pride  was  equal  to  their  avarice — from 
seeking  out  some  lucrative  kind  of  employment.  Since 
the  shock  which  their  fortune  sustained  by  Watson's  dis 
appearance,  she  has  been  permitted  to  pursue  this  plan, 
and  she  now  teaches  music  in  Baltimore  for  a  living.  No 
one,  however,  in  the  highest  rank,  can  be  more  generally 
respected  and  caressed  than  she  is." 

"But  will  not  the  recovery  of  this  money  make  a 
favourable  change  in  her  condition?" 

"  I  can  hardly  tell ;  but  I  am  inclined  to  think  it  will 
not.  It  will  not  change  her  mother's  character.  Her 
pride  may  be  awakened  anew,  and  she  may  oblige  Miss 
Fanny  to  relinquish  her  new  profession,  and  that  will  be 
a  change  to  be  deplored." 

"What  good  has  been  done,  then,  by  restoring  this 
money?" 

"  If  pleasure  be  good,  you  must  have  conferred  a  great 
deal  on  the  Maurices;  upon  the  mother  and  two  of  the 
daughters,  at  least, — the  only  pleasure,  indeed,  which 
their  natures  can  receive.  It  is  less  than  if  you  had 
raised  them  from  absolute  indigence,  which  has  not  been 
the  case,  since  they  had  wherewithal  to  live  upon  besides 
their  Jamaica  property.  But  how?"  continued  Williams, 
suddenly  recollecting  himself;  "have  you  claimed  the 
reward  promised  to  him  who  should  restore  these  bills?" 

"What  reward?" 

"No  less  than  a  thousand  dollars.  It  was  publicly 
promised  under  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Maurice  and  of  Hem- 
mings,  her  husband's  executor." 

"Really,"  said  I,  "that  circumstance  escaped  my 
attention,  and  I  wonder  that  it  did ;  but  is  it  too  late  to 
repair  the  evil  ?" 

"Then  you  have  no  scruple  to  accept  the  reward?" 


MEMOIRS   OF   THE    YEAR   1793-  169 

"  Certainly  not.  Could  you  suspect  me  of  so  strange 
a  punctilio  as  that?" 

"Yes;  but  I  know  not  why.  The  story  you  have 
just  finished  taught  me  to  expect  some  unreasonable  re 
finement  upon  that  head.  To  be  hired,  to  be  bribed,  to 
do  our  duty  is  supposed  by  some  to  be  degrading." 

"  This  is  no  such  bribe  to  me.  I  should  have  acted 
just  as  I  have  done,  had  no  recompense  been  pro 
mised.  In  truth,  this  has  been  my  conduct,  for  I  never 
once  thought  of  the  reward;  but,  now  that  you  remind 
me  of  it,  I  would  gladly  see  it  bestowed.  To  fulfil 
their  engagements,  in  this  respect,  is  no  more  than 
justice  in  the  Maurices.  To  one  in  my  condition  the 
money  will  be  highly  useful.  If  these  people  were  poor,  or 
generous  and  worthy,  or  if  I  myself  were  already  rich,  I 
might  less  repine  at  their  withholding  it ;  but,  things  being 
as  they  are  with  them  and  with  me,  it  would,  I  think,  be 
gross  injustice  in  them  to  withhold,  and  in  me  to  refuse." 

"That  injustice,"  said  Williams,  "will,  on  their  part, 
I  fear,  be  committed.  'Tis  pity  you  first  applied  to  Mrs. 
Maurice.  Nothing  can  be  expected  from  her  avarice, 
unless  it  be  wrested  from  her  by  a  lawsuit." 

"That  is  a  force  which  I  shall  never  apply." 

"  Had  you  gone  first  to  Hemmings,  you  might,  I  think, 
have  looked  for  payment.  He  is  not  a  mean  man.  A 
thousand  dollars,  he  must  know,  is  not  much  to  give  for 
forty  thousand.  Perhaps,  indeed,  it  may  not  yet  be  too 
late.  I  am  well  known  to  him,  and,  if  you  please,  will 
attend  you  to  him  in  the  evening,  and  state  your  claim." 

I  thankfully  accepted  this  offer,  and  went  with  him 
accordingly.  I  found  that  Hemmings  ttad  been  with 
Mrs.  Maurice  in  the  course  of  the  day ;  had  received  from 
her  intelligence  of  this  transaction,  and  had  entertained 
the  expectation  of  a  visit  from  me  for  this  very  purpose. 

While  Williams  explained  to  him  the  nature  of  my 
claim,  he  scanned  me  with  great  intentness.  His  austere 
and  inflexible  brow  afforded  me  little  room  to  hope  for 
success,  and  this  hopelessness  was  confirmed  by  his  silence 
and  perplexity  when  Williams  had  made  an  end. 

"To-be-sure,"  said  he,  after  some  pause,  "the  contract 
was  explicit.  To-be-sure,  the  conditions  on 'Mr.  Mer- 


I/O  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

vyn's  side  have  been  performed.  Certain  it  is,  the  bills 
are  entire  and  complete,  but  Mrs.  Maurice  will  not  con 
sent  to  do  her  part,  and  Mrs.  Maurice,  to  whom  the  papers 
were  presented,  is  the  person  by  whom,  according  to  the 
terms  of  the  contract,  the  reward  must  be  paid." 

"But  Mrs.  Maurice,  you  know,  sir,  may  be  legally 
compelled  to  pay,"  said  Williams. 

"Perhaps  she  may;  but  I  tell  you  plainly,  that  she 
never  will  do  the  thing  without  compulsion.  Legal  pro 
cess,  however,  in  this  case,  will  have  other  inconveniences 
besides  delay.  Some  curiosity  will  naturally  be  excited, 
as  to  the  history  of  these  papers.  Watson  disappeared 
a  twelvemonth  ago.  Who  can  avoid  asking,  Where  have 
these  papers  been  deposited  all  this  while,  and  how  came 
this  person  in  possession  of  them?" 

"That  kind  of  curiosity,"  said  I,  "is  natural  and 
laudable,  and  gladly  would  I  gratify  it.  Disclosure  or 
concealment  in  that  case,  however,  would  nowise  affect 
my  present  claim.  Whether  a  bond,  legally  executed, 
shall  be  paid,  does  not  depend  upon  determining  whether 
the  payer  is  fondest  of  boiled  mutton  or  roast  beef. 
Truth,  in  the  first  case,  has  no  connection  with  truth  in 
the  second.  So  far  from  eluding  this  curiosity,  so  far  from 
studying  concealment,  I  am  anxious  to  publish  the  truth." 

"You  are  right,  to-be-sure,"  said  Ilemmings.  "Cu 
riosity  is  a  natural,  but  only  an  incidental,  consequence 
in  this  case.  I  have  no  reason  for  desiring  that  it  should 
be  an  unpleasant  consequence  to  you." 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Williams,  "you  think  that  Arthur 
Mervyn  has  no  remedy  in  this  case  but  the  law?" 

"  Mrs.  Maurice,  to-be-sure,  will  never  pay  but  on  com 
pulsion.  Mervyn  should  have  known  his  own  interest 
better.  While  his  left  hand  was  stretched  out  to  give, 
his  right  should  have  been  held  forth  to  receive.  As  it 
is,  he  must  be  contented  with  the  aid  of  law.  Any  attorney 
will  prosecute  on  condition  of  receiving  half  the  sum 
when  recovered." 

We  now  rose  to  take  our  leave,  when  Ilemmings,  de 
siring  us  to  pause  a  moment,  said,  "To-be-sure,  in  the 
utmost  strictness  of  the  terms  of  our  promise,  the  reward 
was  to  be  paid  by  the  person  who  received  the  papers; 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  I?  I 

but  it  must  be  owned  that  your  claim,  at  any  rate,  ia 
equitable.  I  have  money  of  the  deceased  Mr.  Maurice 
in  my  hands.  These  very  bills  are  now  in  my  possession. 
I  will  therefore  pay  you  your  due,  and  take  the  conse 
quences  of  an  act  of  justice  on  myself.  I  was  prepared 
for  you.  Sign  that  receipt,  and  there  is  a  check  for  the 
amount." 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

THIS  unexpected  and  agreeable  decision  was  accompa 
nied  by  an  invitation  to  supper,  at  which  we  were  treated 
by  our  host  with  much  affability  and  kindness.  Finding 
me  the  author  of  Williams's  good  fortune  as  well  as  Mrs. 
Maurice's,  and  being  assured  by  the  former  of  his  entire 
conviction  of  the  rectitude  of  my  conduct,  he  laid  aside 
all  reserve  and  distance  with  regard  to  me.  He  inquired 
into  my  prospects  and  wishes,  and  professed  his  willing 
ness  to  serve  me. 

I  dealt  with  equal  unreserve  and  frankness.  "I  am 
poor,"  said  I.  "Money  for  my  very  expenses  hither  I 
have  borrowed  from  a  friend,  to  whom  I  am,  in  other 
respects,  much  indebted,  and  whom  I  expect  to  com 
pensate  only  by  gratitude  and  future  services. 

"In  coming  hither,  I  expected  only  an  increase  of  my 
debts;  to  sink  still  deeper  into  poverty;  but  happily  the 
issue  has  made  me  rich.  This  hour  has  given  me  com 
petence,  at  least." 

"What!  call  you  a  thousand  dollars  competence?" 

"More  than  competence.  I  call  it  an  abundance.  My 
own  ingenuity,  while  I  enjoy  health,  will  enable  me  to 
live.  This  I  regard  as  a  fund,  first  to  pay  my  debts, 
and  next  to  supply  deficiencies  occasioned  by  untoward 
accidents  or  ill  health,  during  the  ensuing  three  or  four 
years  at  least." 

We  parted  with  this  new  acquaintance  at  a  late  hour,  and 
I  accepted  Williams's  invitation  to  pass  the  time  I  should 
spend  at  Baltimore,  under  his  sister's  roof.  There  were 
several  motives  for  prolonging  this  stay.  What  I  had 
heard  of  Miss  Fanny  Maurice  excited  strong  wishes  to 
be  personally  acquainted  with  her.  This  young  lady 
172 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  1/3 

was  affectionately  attached  to  Mrs.  Watson,  by  whose 
means  my  wishes  were  easily  accomplished. 

I  never  was  in  habits  of  reserve,  even  with  those  whom 
I  had  no  reason  to  esteem.  With  those  who  claimed  my 
admiration  and  affection,  it  was  impossible  to  be  incom 
municative.  Before  the  end  of  my  second  interview, 
both  these  women  were  mistresses  of  every  momentous 
incident  of  my  life,  and  of  the  whole  chain  of  my  feel 
ings  and  opinions,  in  relation  to  every  subject,  and  par 
ticularly  in  relation  to  themselves.  Every  topic  discon 
nected  with  these  is  comparatively  lifeless  and  inert. 

I  found  it  easy  to  win  their  attention,  and  to  render 
them  communicative  in  their  turn.  As  full  disclosures 
as  I  had  made  without  condition  or  request,  my  inquiries 
and  example  easily  obtained  from  Mrs.  Watson  and  Miss 
Maurice.  The  former  related  every  event  of  her  youth, 
and  the  circumstances  leading  to  her  marriage.  She 
depicted  the  character  of  her  husband,  and  the  whole 
train  of  suspenses  and  inquietudes  occasioned  by  his  dis 
appearance.  The  latter  did  not  hide  from  me  her  opi 
nions  upon  any  important  subject,  and  made  me  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  her  actual  situation. 

This  intercourse  was  strangely  fascinating.  My  heart 
was  buoyed  up  by  a  kind  of  intoxication.  I  now  found 
myself  exalted  to  my  genial  element,  and  began  to  taste 
the  delights  of  existence.  In  the  intercourse  of  ingenu 
ous  and  sympathetic  minds,  I  found  a  pleasure  which  I 
had  not  previously  conceived. 

The  time  flew  swiftly  away,  and  a  fortnight  passed 
almost  before  I  was  aware  that  a  day  had  gone  by.  I 
did  not  forget  the  friends  whom  I  had  left  behind,  but 
maintained  a  punctual  correspondence  with  Stevens,  to 
whom  I  imparted  all  occurrences. 

The  recovery  of  my  friend's  kinsman  allowed  him  in 
a  few  days  to  return  home.  His  first  object  was  the  con 
solation  and  relief  of  Carlton,  whom,  with  much  diffi 
culty,  he  persuaded  to  take  advantage  of  the  laws  in 
favour  of  insolvent  debtors.  Carlton's  only  debt  was 
owing  to  his  uncle,  and,  by  rendering  up  every  species 
of  property,  except  his  clothes  and  the  implements  of 
his  trade,  he  obtained  a  full  discharge.  In  conjunction 


1/4  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

with  his  sister,  he  once  more  assumed  the  pen,  and,  being 
no  longer  burdened  with  debts  he  was  unable  to  discharge, 
he  resumed,  together  with  his  pen,  his  cheerfulness. 
Their  mutual  industry  was  sufficient  for  their  decent  and 
moderate  subsistence. 

The  chief  reason  for  my  hasty  return  was  my  anxiety 
respecting  Clemenza  Lodi.  This  reason  was  removed  by 
the  activity  and  benevolence  of  my  friend.  He  paid  this 
unfortunate  stranger  a  visit  at  Mrs.  Villars's.  Access  was 
easily  obtained,  and  he  found  her  sunk  into  the  deepest 
melancholy.  The  recent  loss  of  her  child,  the  death  of 
Welbeck,  of  which  she  was  soon  apprized,  her  total  de 
pendence  upon  those  with  whom  she  was  placed,  who,  how 
ever,  had  always  treated  her  without  barbarity  or  inde 
corum,  were  the  calamities  that  weighed  down  her  spirits. 

My  friend  easily  engaged  her  confidence  and  gratitude, 
and  prevailed  upon  her  to  take  refuge  under  his  own  roof. 
Mrs.  Wentworth's  scruples,  as  well  as  those  of  Mrs.  Field 
ing,  were  removed  by  his  arguments  and  entreaties,  and 
they  consented  to  take  upon  themselves,  and  divide  between 
them,  the  care  of  her  subsistence  and  happiness.  They 
condescended  to  express  much  curiosity  respecting  me, 
and  some  interest  in  my  welfare,  and  promised  to  receive 
me,  on  my  return,  on  the  footing  of  a  friend. 

With  some  reluctance,  I  at  length  bade  my  new  friends 
farewell,  and  returned  to  Philadelphia.  Nothing  re 
mained,  before  I  should  enter  on  my  projected  scheme 
of  study  and  employment,  under  the  guidance  of  Stevens, 
but  to  examine  the  situation  of  Eliza  Hadwin  with  my 
own  eyes,  and,  if  possible,  to  extricate  my  father  from 
his  unfortunate  situation. 

My  father's  state  had  given  me  the  deepest  concern.  I 
figured  to  myself  his  condition,  besotted  by  brutal  appe 
tites,  reduced  to  beggary,  shut  up  in  a  noisome  prison, 
and  condemned  to  that  society  which  must  foster  all  his 
depraved  propensities.  I  revolved  various  schemes  for 
his  relief.  A  few  hundreds  would  take  hirn  from  prison; 
but  how  should  he  be  afterwards  disposed  of?  How 
should  he  be  cured  of  his  indolent  habits?  How  should 
he  be  screened  from  the  contagion  of  vicious  society? 
Hy  what  means,  consistently  with  my  own  wants  and 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  175 

the  claims  of  others,  should  I  secure  to  him  an  accept 
able  subsistence? 

Exhortation  and  example  were  vain.  Nothing  but  re 
straint  would  keep  him  at  a  distance  from  the  haunts  of 
brawling  and  debauchery.  The  want  of  money  would 
be  no  obstacle  to  prodigality  and  waste.  Credit  would 
be  resorted  to  as  long  as  it  would  answer  his  demand. 
When  that  failed,  he  would  once  more  be  thrown  into  a 
prison ;  the  same  means  to  extricate  him  would  have  to 
be  repeated,  and  money  be  thus  put  into  the  pockets  of 
the  most  worthless  of  mankind,  the  agents  of  drunken 
ness  and  blasphemy,  without  any  permanent  advantage 
to  my  father,  the  principal  object  of  my  charity. 

Though  unable  to  fix  on  any  plausible  mode  of  pro 
ceeding,  I  determined,  at  least,  to  discover  his  present 
condition.  Perhaps  something  might  suggest  itself,  upon 
the  spot,  suited  to  my  purpose.  Without  delay  I  pro 
ceeded  to  the  village  of  Newtown,  and,  alighting  at  the 
door  of  the  prison,  inquired  for  my  father. 

"Sawny  Mervyn  you  want,  I  suppose,"  said  the 
keeper.  "  Poor  fellow !  He  came  into  limbo  in  a  crazy 
condition,  and  has  been  a  burden  on  my  hands  ever  since. 
After  lingering  along  for  some  time,  he  was  at  last  kind 
enough  to  give  us  the  slip.  It  is  just  a  week  since  he 
drank  his  last  pint — and  died." 

I  was  greatly  shocked  at  this  intelligence.  It  was  some 
time  before  my  reason  came  to  my  aid,  and  showed  me 
that  this  was  an  event,  on  the  whole,  and  on  a  disinte 
rested  and  dispassionate  view,  not  unfortunate.  The 
keeper  knew  not  my  relation  to  the  deceased,  and  readily 
recounted  the  behaviour  of  the  prisoner  and  the  circum 
stances  of  his  last  hours. 

I  shall  not  repeat  the  narrative.  It  is  useless  to  keep 
alive  the  sad  remembrance.  He  was  now  beyond  the 
reach  of  my  charity  or  pity ;  and,  since  reflection  could 
answer  no  beneficial  end  to  him,  it  was  my  duty  to  divert 
my  thoughts  into  different  channels,  and  live  henceforth 
for  my  own  happiness  and  that  of  those  who  were  within 
the  sphere  of  my  influence. 

I  was  now  alone  in  the  world,  so  far  as  the  total  want 
of  kindred  creates  solitude.  Not  one  of  my  blood,  nor 


ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

even  of  my  name,  was  to  be  found  in  this  quarter  of  the 
world.  Of  my  mother's  kindred  I  knew  nothing.  So 
far  as  friendship  or  service  might  be  claimed  from  them, 
to  me  they  had  no  existence.  I  was  destitute  of  all 
those  benefits  which  flow  from  kindred,  in  relation  tc 
protection,  advice,  or  property.  My  inheritance  was 
nothing.  Not  a  single  relic  or  trinket  in  my  possession 
constituted  a  memorial  of  my  family.  The  scenes  of 
my  childish  and  juvenile  days  were  dreary  and  desolate. 
The  fields  which  I  was  wont  to  traverse,  the  room  in 
which  I  was  born,  retained  no  traces  of  the  past.  They 
were  the  property  and  residence  of  strangers,  who  knew 
nothing  of  the  former  tenants,  and  who,  as  I  was  now 
told,  had  hastened  to  new-model  and  transform  every 
thing  within  arid  without  the  habitation. 

These  images  filled  me  with  melancholy,  which,  how 
ever,  disappeared  in  proportion  as  I  approached  the  abode 
of  my  beloved  girl.  Absence  had  endeared  the  image  of 
my  Bess — I  loved  to  call  her  so — to  my  soul.  I  could  not 
think  of  her  without  a  melting  softness  at  my  heart,  and 
tears  in  which  pain  and  pleasure  were  unaccountably  min 
gled.  As  I  approached  Curling's  house,  I  strained  my 
sight,  in  hopes  of  distinguishing  her  form  through  the 
evening  dusk. 

I  had  told  her  of  my  purpose,  by  letter.  She  ex 
pected  my  approach  at  this  hour,  and  was  stationed,  with 
a  heart  throbbing  with  impatience,  at  the  roadside,  near 
the  gate.  As  soon  as  I  alighted,  she  rushed  into  my 
arms. 

I  found  my  sweet  friend  less  blithesome  and  contented 
than  I  wished.  Her  situation,  in  spite  of  the  parental 
and  sisterly  regards  which  she  received  from  the  Cur 
lings,  was  mournful  and  dreary  to  her  imagination. 
Rural  business  was  irksome,  and  insufficient  to  fill  up 
her  time.  Her  life  was  tiresome,  and  uniform,  and 
heavy. 

I  ventured  to  blame  her  discontent,  and  pointed  out 
the  advantages  of  her  situation.  "Whence,"  said  I, 
"can  these  dissatisfactions  and  repinings  arise?" 

"I  cannot  tell,"  said  she;  "I  don't  know  how  it  is 
with  me.  I  am  always  sorrowful  and  thoughtful.  Per- 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  177 

haps  I  think  too  much  of  my  poor  father  and  of  Susan ; 
and  yet  that  can't  be  it,  neither,  for  I  think  of  them  but 
seldom;  not  half  as  much  as  I  ought,  perhaps.  I  think 
of  nobody  almost  but  you.  Instead  of  minding  my 
business,  or  chatting  and  laughing  with  Peggy  Curling, 
I  love  to  get  by  myself, — to  read,  over  and  over,  your 
letters,  or  to  think  how  you  are  employed  just  then,  and 
how  happy  I  should  be  if  I  were  in  Fanny  Maurice's 
place. 

"But  it  is  all  over  now;  this  visit  rewards  me  for 
every  thing.  I  wonder  how  I  could  ever  be  sullen  or 
niopeful.  I  will  behave  better,  indeed  I  will,  and  be 
always,  as  now,  a  most  happy  girl." 

The  greater  part  of  three  days  was  spent  in  the  so 
ciety  of  my  friend,  in  listening  to  her  relation  of  all 
that  had  happened  during  my  absence,  and  in  com 
municating,  in  my  turn,  every  incident  which  had  be 
fallen  myself.  After  this  I  once  more  returned  to  the 
city. 

12 


CHAPTER   XLIV. 

I  NOW  set  about  carrying  my  plan  of  life  into  effect.  I 
began  with  ardent  zeal  and  unwearied  diligence  the  career 
of  medical  study.  I  bespoke  the  counsels  and  instruc 
tions  of  my  friend;  attended  him  on  his  professional 
visits,  and  acted,  in  all  practicable  cases,  as  his  substitute. 
I  found  this  application  of  time  more  pleasurable  than  I 
had  imagined.  My  mind  gladly  expanded  itself,  as  it 
were,  for  the  reception  of  new  ideas.  My  curiosity 
grew  more  eager  in  proportion  as  it  was  supplied  with 
food,  and  every  day  added  strength  to  the  assurance 
that  I  was  no  insignificant  and  worthless  being ;  that  I 

•  . 

was  destined  to  be  something  in  this  scene  of  existence, 
and  might  some  time  lay  claim  to  the  gratitude  and 
homage  of  my  fellow  men. 

I  was  far  from  being,  however,  monopolized  by  these 
pursuits.  I  was  formed  on  purpose  for  the  gratification 
of  social  intercourse.  To  love  and  to  be  loved ;  to  ex 
change  hearts  and  mingle  sentiments  with  all  the  vir 
tuous  and  amiable  whom  my  good  fortune  had  placed 
within  the  circuit  of  my  knowledge,  I  always  esteemed 
my  highest  enjoyment  and  my  chief  duty. 

Carlton  and  his  sister,  Mrs.  Wentworth,  and  Achsa 
Fielding,  were  my  most  valuable  associates  beyond  my 
own  family.  With  all  these  my  correspondence  was 
frequent  and  unreserved,  but  chiefly  with  the  latter. 
This  lady  had  dignity  and  independence,  a  generous  and 
enlightened  spirit,  beyond  what  her  education  had  taught 
ine  to  expect.  She  was  circumspect  and  cautious  in  her 
deportment,  and  was  not  prompt  to  make  advances,  or 
accept  them.  She  withheld  her  esteem  and  confidence 
until  she  had  full  proof  of  their  being  deserved. 

I  am  not  sure  that  her  treatment  of  me  was  fully  con 
formable  to  her  rules.  My  manners,  indeed,  as  she  once 
178 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793-  1 79 

told  me,  she  had  never  met  with  in  another.  Ordinary 
rules  were  so  totally  overlooked  in  my  behaviour,  that  it 
seemed  impossible  for  any  one  who  knew  me  to  adhere 
to  them.  No  option  was  left  but  to  admit  my  claims  to 
friendship  and  confidence  instantly,  or  to  reject  them 
altogether. 

I  Avas  not  conscious  of  this  singularity.  The  internal 
and  undiscovered  character  of  another  weighed  nothing 
with  me  in  the  question  whether  they  should  be  treated 
with  frankness  or  reserve.  I  felt  no  scruple  on  any  oc 
casion  to  disclose  every  feeling  and  every  event.  Any 
one  who  could  listen  found  me  willing  to  talk.  Every 
talker  found  me  willing  to  listen.  Every  one  had  my 
sympathy  and  kindness,  without  claiming  it;  but  I 
claimed  the  kindness  and  sympathy  of  every  one. 

Achsa  Fielding's  countenance  bespoke,  I  thought,  a 
mind  worthy  to  be  known  and  to  be  loved.  The  first 
moment  I  engaged  her  attention,  I  told  her  so.  I  re 
lated  the  little  story  of  my  family,  spread  out  before  her 
all  my  reasonings  and  determinations,  my  notions  of 
right  and  wrong,  my  fears  and  wishes.  All  this  was 
done  with  sincerity  and  fervour,  with  gestures,  actions, 
and  looks,  in  which  I  felt  as  if  my  whole  soul  was  visible. 
Her  superior  age,  sedateness,  and  prudence,  gave  my 
deportment  a  filial  freedom  and  affection,  and  I  was  fond 
of  calling  her  "mamma." 

I  particularly  dwelt  upon  the  history  of  my  dear 
country-girl ;  painted  her  form  and  countenance ;  re 
counted  our  dialogues,  and  related  all  my  schemes  for 
making  her  wise,  and  good,  and  happy.  On  these  occa 
sions  my  friend  would  listen  to  me  with  the  mutest  at 
tention.  I  showed  her  the  letters  I  received,  and  offered 
her  for  her  perusal  those  which  I  wrote  in  answer,  before 
they  were  sealed  and  sent. 

On  these  occasions  she  would  look  by  turns  on  my 
face  and  away  from  me.  A  varying  hue  would  play 
upon  her  cheek,  and  her  eyes  were  fuller  than  was  com 
mon,  of  meaning. 

14  Such-and-such,"  I  once  said,  "are  my  notions;  now, 
what  do  you  think?" 

"Think!"  emphatically,  and  turning  somewhat  aside, 


ISO  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

she  answered;  "that  you  are  the  most — strange  of 
human  creatures." 

"  But  tell  me,"  I  resumed,  following  and  searching  her 
averted  eyes;  "am  I  right?  would  you  do  thus?  Can 
you  help  me  to  improve  my  girl?  I  wish  you  knew  the 
bewitching  little  creature.  How  would  that  heart  over 
flow  with  affection  and  with  gratitude  towards  you  !  She 
should  be  your  daughter.  No — you  are  too  nearly  of 
an  age  for  that.  A  sister ;  her  elder  sister,  you  should 
be.  That,  when  there  is  no  other  relation,  includes  them 
all.  Fond  sisters  you  would  be,  and  I  the  fond  brother 
of  you  both." 

My  eyes  glistened  as  I  spoke.  In  truth,  I  am  in  that 
respect  a  mere  woman.  My  friend  was  more  powerfully 
moved.  After  a  momentary  struggle  she  burst  into  tears. 

"Good  heaven!"  said  I,  "  what  ails  you?  Are  you 
not  well  ?" 

Her  looks  betrayed  an  unaccountable  confusion,  from 
which  she  quickly  recovered: — "It  was  folly  to  be  thus 
affected.  Something  ailed  me,  I  believe,  but  it  is  past. 
But,  come,  you  want  some  lines  of  finishing  the  descrip 
tion  of  the  Boa  in  La  Cepide." 

"  True.  And  I  have  twenty  minutes  to  spare.  Poor 
Franks  is  very  ill  indeed,  but  he  cannot  be  seen  till  nine. 
We'll  read  till  then." 

Thus  on  the  wings  of  pleasure  and  improvement 
passed  my  time ;  not  without  some  hues,  occasionally, 
of  a  darker  tint.  My  heart  was  now  and  then  detected 
in  sighing.  This  occurred  when  my  thoughts  glanced 
at  the  poor  Eliza,  and  measured,  as  it  were,  the  interval 
between  us.  "We  are  too — too  far  apart,"  thought  I. 

The  best  solace  on  these  occasions  was  the  company 
of  Mrs.  Fielding ;  her  music,  her  discourse,  or  some 
book  which  she  set  me  to  rehearsing  to  her.  One  even 
ing,  when  preparing  to  pay  her  a  visit,  I  received  the 
following  letter  from  my  Bess  : — 

To  A.  Mervyn. 

CURLING' s,  May  6,  1794. 

Where  does  this  letter  you  promised  me  stay  all  this 
while  ?  Indeed,  Arthur,  you  torment  me  more  than  I 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  l8l 

deserve,  and  more  than  I  could  ever  find  it  in  my  heart 
to  do  you.  You  treat  me  cruelly.  I  must  say  so,  though 
I  offend  you.  I  must  write,  though  you  do  not  deserve 
that  I  should,  and  though  I  fear  I  am  in  a  humour  not 
very  fit  for  writing.  I  had  better  go  to  my  chamber  and 
weep  ;  weep  at  your — unkindness,  I  was  going  to  say  ; 
but,  perhaps,  it  is  only  forgetfulness ;  and  yet  what  can 
be  more  unkind  than  forgetfulness  ?  I  am  sure  I  have 
never  forgotten  you.  Sleep  itself,  which  wraps  all  other 
images  in  forgetfulness,  only  brings  you  nearer,  and 
makes  me  see  you  more  distinctly. 

But  where  can  this  letter  stay  ? — Oh  !  that — hush ! 
foolish  girl !  If  a  word  of  that  kind  escape  thy  lips, 
Arthur  will  be  angry  with  thee ;  and  then,  indeed,  thou 
mightest  weep  in  earnest.  Then  thou  wouldfet  have 
some  cause  for  thy  tears.  More  than  once  already  has 
he  almost  broken  thy  heart  with  his  reproaches.  Sore 
and  weak  as  it  now  is,  any  new  reproaches  would  as 
suredly  break  it  quite. 

I  will  be  content.  I  will  be  as  good  a  housewife  and 
dairywoman,  stir  about  as  briskly,  and  sing  as  merrily, 
as  Peggy  Curling.  Why  not  ?  1  am  as  young,  as  inno 
cent,  and  enjoy  as  good  health.  Alas  !  she  has  reason 
to  be  merry.  She  has  father,  mother,  brothers ;  but  I 
have  none.  And  he  that  was  all  these,  and  more  than 
all  these,  to  me,  has — -forgotten  me. 

But,  perhaps,  it  is  some  accident  that  hinders.  Per 
haps  Oliver  left  the  market  earlier  than  he  used  to  do ; 
or  you  mistook  the  house ;  or  perhaps  some  poor  crea 
ture  was  sick,  was  taken  suddenly  ill,  and  you  were  busy 
in  chafing  his  clay-cold  limbs ;  it  fell  to  you  to  wipe  the 
clammy  drops  from  his  brow.  Such  things  often  hap 
pen  (don't  they,  Arthur  ?)  to  people  of  your  trade,  and 
some  such  thing  has  happened  now ;  and  that  was  the 
reason  you  did  not  write. 

And  if  so,  shall  I  repine  at  your  silence  ?  Oh  no ! 
At  such  a  time  the  poor  Bess  might  easily  be,  and  ought 
to  be,  forgotten.  She  would  not  deserve  your  love  if  she 
could  repine  at  a  silence  brought  about  this  way. 

And  oh  !  may  it  be  so  !  May  there  be  nothing  worse 
than  this  !  If  the  sick  mail — see,  Arthur,  how  my  hand 


1 82  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

trembles.  Can  you  read  this  scrawl  ?  What  is  always 
bad,  my  fears  make  worse  than  ever. 

I  must  not  think  that.  And  yet,  if  it  be  so,  if  my 
friend  himself  be  sick,  what  will  become  of  me  ?  Of  me, 
that  ought  to  cherish  you  and  comfort  you  ;  that  ought 
to  be  your  nurse.  Endure  for  you  your  sickness,  when 
she  cannot  remove  it. 

Oh  !  that 1  will  speak  out — Oh  that  this  strange 

scruple  had  never  possessed  you  !  Why  should  I  not  be 
with  you  ?  Who  can  love  you  and  serve  you  as  well  as 
I  ?  In  sickness  and  health,  I  will  console  and  assist 
you.  Why  will  you  deprive  yourself  of  such  a  com 
forter  and  such  an  aid  as  I  would  be  to  you  ? 

Dear  Arthur,  think  better  of  it.  Let  me  leave  this 
dreary  spot,  where,  indeed,  as  long  as  I  am  thus  alone, 
I  can  enjoy  no  comfort.  Let  me  come  to  you.  I  will 
put  up  with  any  thing  for  the  sake  of  seeing  you,  though 
it  be  but  once  a  day.  Any  garret  or  cellar  in  the  dirtiest 
lane  or  darkest  alley  will  be  good  enough  for  me.  I  will 
think  it  a  palace,  so  that  I  can  but  see  you  now  aud 
then. 

Do  not  refuse — do  not  argue  with  me,  so  fond  you 
always  are  of  arguing  !  My  heart  is  set  upon  your  com 
pliance.  And  yet,  dearly  as  I  prize  your  company,  I 
would  not  ask  it,  if  I  thought  there  was  any  thing  im 
proper.  You  say  there  is,  and  you  talk  about  it  in  a 
way  that  I  do  not  understand.  For  my  sake,  you  tell 
me,  you  refuse ;  but  let  me  entreat  you  to  comply  for 
my  sake. 

Your  pen  cannot  teach  me  like  your  tongue.  You 
write  me  long  letters,  and  tell  me  a  great  deal  in  them  ; 
but  my  soul  droops  when  I  call  to  mind  your  voice  aud 
your  looks,  and  think  how  long  a  time  must  pass  before 
I  see  you  and  hear  you  again.  I  have  no  spirit  to  think 
upon  the  words  and  paper  before  me.  My  eye  and  my 
thought  wander  far  away. 

I  bethink  me  how  many  questions  I  might  ask  you ; 
how  many  doubts  you  might  clear  up  if  you  were  but 
within  hearing.  If  you  were  but  close  to  me ;  but  I 
cannot  ask  them  here.  I  am  too  poor  a  creature  at  the 
pen,  and,  somehow  or  another,  it  always  happens,  1  can 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  1 8? 

only  write  about  myself  or  about  you.  By  the  time  I 
have  said  all  this,  I  have  tired  my  fingers,  and  when  I 
set  about  telling  you  how  this  poem  and  that  story  have 
affected  me,  I  am  at  a  loss  for  words ;  I  am  bewildered 
and  bemazed,  as  it  were. 

It  is  not  so  when  we  talk  to  one  another.  With  your 
arm  about  me,  and  your  sweet  face  close  to  mine,  I  can 
prattle  forever.  Then  my  heart  overflows  at  my  lips. 
After  hours  thus  spent,  it  seems  as  if  there  were  a  thou 
sand  things  still  to  be  said.  Then  I  can  tell  you  what 
the  book  has  told  me.  I  can  repeat  scores  of  verses  by 
heart,  though  I  heard  them  only  once  read ;  but  it  is 
because  you  have  read  them  to  me. 

Then  there  is  nobody  here  to  answer  my  questions. 
They  never  look  into  books.  They  hate  books.  They 
think  it  waste  of  time  to  read.  Even  Peggy,  who  you 
say  has  naturally  a  strong  mind,  wonders  what  I  can 
find  to  amuse  myself  in  a  book.  In  her  playful  mood, 
she  is  always  teasing  me  to  lay  it  aside. 

I  do  not  mind  her,  for  I  like  to  read ;  but,  if  I  did 
not  like  it  before,  I  could  not  help  doing  so  ever  since 
you  told  me  that  nobody  could  gain  your  love  who  was 
not  fond  of  books.  And  yet,  though  I  like  it  on  that 
account  more  than  I  did,  I  don't  read  somehow  so  ear 
nestly  and  understand  so  well  as  I  used  to  do  when  my 
mind  was  all  at  ease,  always  frolicsome,  and  ever  upon 
tiptoe,  as  I  may  say. 

How  strangely  (have  you  not  observed  it?)  I  am 
altered  of  late ! — I,  that  was  ever  light  of  heart,  the 
very  soul  of  gayety,  brimfull  of  glee,  am  now  demure  as 
our  old  tabby — and  not  half  as  wise.  Tabby  had  wit 
enough  to  keep  her  paws  ont  of  the  coals,  whereas  poor 
I  have — but  no  matter  what.  It  will  never  come  to 
pass,  I  see  that.  So  many  reasons  for  every  thing ! 
Such  looking  forward  !  Arthur,  are  not  men  sometimes 
too  wise  to  be  happy  ? 

I  am  now  so  grave.  Not  one  smile  can  Peggy  some 
times  get  from  me,  though  she  tries  for  it  the  whole  day. 
But  I  know  how  it  comes.  Strange,  indeed,  if,  losing 
father  and  sister,  and  thrown  upon  the  wide  world, 
penniless  and  friendless  too,  now  that  you  forget  me,  I 


184  ARTHUR  MERVYN. 

should  continue  to  smile.    No.    I  never  shall  smile  again. 
At  least,  while  I  stay  here,  I  never  shall,  I  believe. 

If  a  certain  somebody  suffer  me  to  live  with  him, — 
near  him,  I  mean, — perhaps  the  sight  of  him  as  he 
enters  the  door,  perhaps  the  sound  of  his  voice,  asking, 
"Where  is  my  Bess?"  might  produce  a  smile.  Such  a 
one  as  the  very  thought  produces  now, — yet  not,  I  hope, 
so  transient,  and  so  quickly  followed  by  a  tear.  Women 
are  born,  they  say,  to  trouble,  and  tears  are  given  them 
for  their  relief.  'Tis  all  very  true. 

Let  it  be  as  I  wish,  will  you  ?  If  Oliver  bring  not 
back  good  tidings,  if  he  bring  not  a  letter  from  thee,  or 
thy  letter  still  refuses  my  request, — I  don't  know  what 
may  happen.  Consent,  if  you  love  your  poor  girl. 

E.  H. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

THE  reading  of  tin's  letter,  though  it  made  me  mourn 
ful,  did  not  hinder  me  from  paying  the  visit  I  intended. 
My  friend  noticed  my  discomposure. 

"  What,  Arthur !  thou  art  quite  the  '  penseroso'  to-night. 
Come,  let  me  cheer  thee  with  a  song.  Thou  shalt  have 
thy  favourite  ditty."  She  stepped  to  the  instrument,  and, 
with  more  than  airy  lightness,  touched  and  sung: — 

"Now  knit  hands  and  beat  the  ground 
In  a  light,  fantastic  round, 
Till  the  telltale  sun  descry 
Our  conceal'd  solemnity." 

Her  music,  though  blithsome  and  aerial,  was  not  suf 
ficient  for  the  end.  My  cheerfulness  would  not  return 
even  at  her  bidding.  She  again  noticed  my  sedateness, 
and  inquired  into  the  cause. 

"This  girl  of  mine,"  said  I,  "has  infected  me  with 
her  own  sadness.  There  is  a  letter  I  have  just  received." 
She  took  it  and  began  to  read. 

Meanwhile,  I  placed  myself  before  her,  and  fixed  my 
eyes  steadfastly  upon  her  features.  There  is  no  book  in 
which  I  read  with  more  pleasure  than  the  face  of  woman. 
That  is  generally  more  full  of  meaning,  and  of  better 
meaning  too,  than  the  hard  and  inflexible  lineaments  of 
man  ;  and  this  woman's  face  has  no  parallel. 

She  read  it  with  visible  emotion.  Having  gone 
through  it,  she  did  not  lift  her  eye  from  the  paper,  but 
continued  silent,  as  if  buried  in  thought.  After  some 
time,  (for  I  would  not  interrupt  the  pause,)  she  addressed 
me  thus : — 

"  This  girl  seems  to  be  very  anxious  to  be  with  you." 

"  As  much  as  I  am  that  she  should  be  so."  My  friend's 
countenance  betrayed  some  perplexity.  As  soon  as  I 

185 


1 86  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

perceived  it,  I  said,  "Why  arc  you  thus  grave?"  Some 
little  confusion  appeared,  as  if  she  would  not  have  her 
gravity  discovered.  "  There  again,"  said  I,  "  new  tokens 
in  your  face,  my  good  mamma,  of  something  which  you 
will  not  mention.  Yet,  sooth  to  say,  this  is  not  your 
first  perplexity.  I  have  noticed  it  hef'orc,  and  wondered. 
It  happens  only  when  my  Bess  is  introduced.  Some 
thing  in  relation  to  her  it  must  be,  but  what  I  cannot 
imagine.  Why  does  her  name,  particularly,  make  you 
thoughtful,  disturbed,  dejected?  There  now — but  I  must 
know  the  reason.  You  don't  agree  with  me  in  my  notions 
of  this  girl,  I  fear,  and  you  will  not  disclose  your  thoughts." 

By  this  time,  she  had  gained  her  usual  composure,  and, 
without  noticing  my  comments  on  her  looks,  said,  "  Since 
you  are  both  of  one  mind,  why  does  she  not  leave  the 
country?" 

"  That  cannot  be,  I  believe.  Mrs.  Stevens  says  it 
would  be  disreputable.  I  am  no  proficient  in  etiquette, 
and  must,  therefore,  in  affairs  of  this  kind,  be  guided  by 
those  who  are.  But  would  to  heaven  I  were  truly  her 
father  or  brother!  Then  all  difficulties  would  be  done 
away." 

"Can  you  seriously  wish  that?" 

"Why,  no.  I  believe  it  would  be  more  rational  to 
•wish  that  the  world  would  suffer  me  to  act  the  fatherly 
or  brotherly  part,  without  the  relationship." 

"And  is  that  the  only  part  you  wish  to  act  towards 
this  girl?" 

"Certainly,  the  only  part." 

"  You  surprise  me.  Have  you  not  confessed  your  love 
for  her?" 

"  I  do  love  her.  There  is  nothing  upon  earth  more 
dear  to  me  than  my  Bess." 

"  But  love  is  of  different  kinds.  She  was  loved  by 
her  father " 

"  Less  than  by  me.  lie  was  a  good  man,  but  not  of 
lively  feelings.  Besides,  he  had  another  daughter,  .and 
they  shared  his  love  between  them  ;  but  she  has  no  sister 
to  share  mt/  love.  Calamity,  too,  has  endeared  her  to 
me ;  I  am  all  her  consolation,  dependence,  and  hope,  and 
nothing,  surely,  can  induce  me  to  abandon  her." 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  187 

"Her  reliance  upon  you  for  happiness,"  replied  my 
friend,  with  a  sigh,  "is  plain  enough." 

"  It  is  ;  but  why  that  sigh  ?    And  vet  I  understand  it. 

v  v 

It  remonstrates  with  me  on  my  incapacity  for  her  support. 
I  know  it  well,  but  it  is  wrong  to  be  cast  down.  1  have 
youth,  health,  and  spirits,  and  ought  not  to  despair  of 
living  for  my  own  benefit  and  hers  ;  but  you  sigh  again, 
and  it  is  impossible  to  keep  my  courage  when  you  sigh. 
Do  tell  me  what  you  mean  by  it." 

"  You  partly  guessed  the  cause.  She  trusts  to  you  for 
happiness,  but  I  somewhat  suspect  she  trusts  in  vain." 

"  In  vain  !     I  beseech  you,  tell  me  why  you  think  so." 

"  You  say  you  love  her :  why  then  not  make  her  your 
wife  ?' 

"  My  wife  !  Surely  her  extreme  youth,  and  my  desti 
tute  condition,  will  account  for  that." 

"  She  is  fifteen  ;  the  age  of  delicate  fervour,  of  inarti 
ficial  love,  and  suitable  enough  for  marriage.  As  to  your 
condition,  you  may  live  more  easily  together  than  apart. 
She  has  no  false  taste  or  perverse  desires  to  gratify.  She 
has  been  trained  in  simple  modes  and  habits.  ^Besides, 
that  objection  can  be  removed  another  way.  But  are 
these  all  your  objections?" 

"  Her  youth  I  object  to,  merely  in  connection  with  her 
mind.  She  is  too  little  improved  to  be  my  wife.  She 
wants  that  solidity  of  mind,  that  maturity  of  intelligence 
which  ten  years  more  may  possibly  give  her,  but  which 
she  cannot  have  at  this  age." 

"  You  are  a  very  prudential  youth  :  then  you  are  will 
ing  to  wait  ten  years  for  a  wife  ?" 

ki  Does  that  follow  ?  Because  mv  Bess  will  not  be 
qualified  for  wedlock  in  less  time,  does  it  follow  that  I 
must  wait  for  her?" 

"  I  spoke  on  the  supposition  that  you  loved  her." 

"And  that  is  true ;  but  love  is  satisfied  with  study 
ing  her  happiness  as  her  father  or  brother.  Some 
years  hence,  perhaps  in  half  a  year,  (for  this  passion, 
called  wedded  or  marriaffe-*ri»ktng  love,  is  of  sudden 
growth,)  my  mind  may  change  and  nothing  may  con 
tent  me  but  to  have  Bess  for  my  wife.  Yet  I  do  not 
expect  it." 


1 88  ARTHUR  MERVYN ;    OK, 

"  Then  you  are  determined  against  marriage  with  this 
girl  ?" 

"  Of  course ;  until  that  love  comes  which  I  feel  not 
now  ;  but  which,  no  doubt,  will  come,  when  Bess  has  had 
the  benefit  of  five  or  eight  years  more,  unless  previously 
excited  by  another." 

"All  this  is  strange,  Arthur.  I  have  heretofore  sup 
posed  that  you  actually  loved  (I  mean  with  the  marriage- 
seeking  passion)  your  Bess." 

"  I  believe  I  once  did ;  but  it  happened  at  a  time  when 
marriage  was  improper;  in  the  life  of  her  father  and 
sister,  and  when  I  had  never  known  in  what  female  ex 
cellence  consisted.  Since  that  time  my  happier  lot  has 
cast  me  among  women  so  far  above  Eliza  Hadwin, — so 
far  above,  and  so  widely  different  from  any  thing  which 
time  is  likely  to  make  her, — that,  I  own,  nothing  appears 
more  unlikely  than  that  I  shall  ever  love  her." 

"Are  you  not  a  little  capricious  in  that  respect,  my 
good  friend?  You  have  praised  your  Bess  as  rich  in 
natural  endowments;  as  having  an  artless  purity  and 
rectitude  of  mind,  which  somewhat  supersedes  the  use 
of  formal  education ;  as  being  full  of  sweetness  and  ten 
derness,  and  in  her  person  a  very  angel  of  loveliness." 

"All  that  is  true.  I  never  saw  features  and  shape  so 
delicately  beautiful ;  I  never  knew  so  young  a  mind  so 
quick-sighted  and  so  firm ;  but,  nevertheless,  she  is  not 
the  creature  whom  I  would  call  my  wife.  My  bosom- 
slave  ;  counsellor ;  friend  ;  the  mother ;  the  pattern  ;  the 
tutoress  of  my  children,  must  be  a  different  creature." 

"  But  what  are  the  attributes  of  this  desirable  which 
Bess  wants?" 

"  Every  thing  she  wants.  Age,  capacity,  acquire 
ments,  person,  features,  hair,  complexion,  all,  all  are 
different  from  this  girl's." 

"And  pray  of  what  kind  may  they  be?" 

"  I  cannot  portray  them  in  words — but  yes,  I  can : — The 
creature  whom  I  shall  worship: — it  sounds  oddly,  but,  1 
verily  believe,  the  sentiment  which  I  shall  feel  for  my 
wife  will  be  more  akin  to  worship  than  any  thing  else.  I 
shall  never  love  but  such  a  creature  as  I  now  image  to 
myself,  and  tuch  a  creature  will  deserve,  or  almost  de- 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR   f?9J.  189 

serve,  worship.  But  this  creature,  I  was  going  to  say, 
must  be  the  exact  counterpart,  my  good  mamma — of 
yourself." 

This  was  said  very  earnestly,  and  with  eyes  and  manner 
that  fully  expressed  my  earnestness;  perhaps  my  ex 
pressions  were  unwittingly  strong  and  emphatic,  for  she 
started  and  blushed,  but  the  cause  of  her  discomposure, 
whatever  it  was,  was  quickly  removed,  and  she  said, — 

"Poor  Bess!     This  will  be  sad  news  to  thee!" 

"Heaven  forbid!"  said  I;  "of  what  moment  can  my 
opinions  be  to  her':"' 

."Strange  questioner  that  thou  art.  Thou  knowest 
that  her  gentle  heart  is  touched  with  love.  See  how  it 
shows  itself  in  the  tender  and  inimitable  strain  of  this 
epistle.  Does  not  this  sweet  ingenuousness  bewitch  you  ?" 

"It  does  so,  and  I  love,  beyond  expression,  the  sweet 
girl ;  but  my  love  is,  in  some  inconceivable  way,  different 
from  the  passion  which  that  other  creature  will  produce. 
She  is  no  stranger  to  my  thoughts.  I  will  impart  every 
thought  over  and  over  to  her.  I  question  not  but  I  shall 
make  her  happy  without  forfeiting  my  own." 

"Would  marriage  with  her  be  a  forfeiture  of  your 
happiness?" 

"Not  absolutely  or  forever,  I  believe.  I  love  her 
company.  Her  absence  for  a  long  time  is  irksome.  I 
cannot  express  the  delight  with  which  I  see  and  hear 
her.  To  mark  her  features,  beaming  with  vivacity ; 
playful  in  her  pleasures ;  to  hold  her  in  my  arms,  and 
listen  to  her  prattle,  ahvays  musically  voluble,  always 
sweetly  tender,  or  artlessly  intelligent — and  this  you 
will  say  is  the  dearest  privilege  of  marriage ;  and  so  it 
is;  and  dearly  should  I  prize  it;  and  yet,  I  fear  my 
heart  would  droop  as  often  as  that  other  image  should 
occur  to  my  fancy.  For  then,  you  know,  it  would  occur 
as  something  never  to  be  possessed  by  me. 

"Now,  this  image  might,  indeed,  seldom  occur.  The 
intervals,  at  least,  would  be  serene.  It  would  be  my  in 
terest  to  prolong  these  intervals  as  much  as  possible,  and 
my  endeavours  to  this  end  would,  no  doubt,  have  some 
effect.  Besides,  the  bitterness  of  this  reflection  would 


IQO  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

be  lessened  by  contemplating,  at  the  same  time,  the 
happiness  of  my  beloved  girl. 

"I  should  likewise  have  to  remember,  that  to  continue 
unmarried  would  not  necessarily  secure  me  the  possession 
of  the  oilier  good " 

"But  these  reflections,  my  friend,"  (broke  she  in  upon 
me,)  "are  of  as  much  force  to  induce  you  to  marry,  aa 
to  reconcile  you  to  a  marriage  already  contracted." 

"Perhaps  they  are.  Assuredly,  I  have  not  a  hope 
that  the  fancied  excellence  will  ever  be  mine.  Such 
happiness  is  not  the  lot  of  humanity,  and  is,  least  of  all, 
within  my  reach." 

"Your  diffidence,"  replied  my  friend,  in  a  timorous 
accent,  "  has  not  many  examples ;  but  your  character, 
without  doubt,  is  all  your  own,  possessing  all  and  dis 
claiming  all, — is,  in  few  words,  your  picture." 

"  I  scarcely  understand  you.  Do  you  think  I  ever 
shall  be  happy  to  that  degree  which  I  have  imagined  ? 
Think  you  I  shall  ever  meet  with  an  exact  copy  of 
yourself?" 

"Unfortunate  you  will  be,  if  you  do  not  meet  with 
many  better.  Your  Bess,  in  personals,  is,  beyond  mea 
sure,  my  superior,  and  in  mind,  allowing  for  difference 
in  years,  quite  as  much  so." 

"But  that,"  returned  I,  with  quickness  and  fervour, 
"is  not  the  object.  The  very  counterpart  of  you  I 
want;  neither  worse  nor  better,  nor  different  in  any 
thing.  Just  such  form,  such  features,  such  hues.  Just 
that  melting  voice,  and,  above  all,  the  same  habits  of 
thinking  and  conversing.  In  thought,  word,  and  deed  ; 
gesture,  look,  and  form,  that  rare  and  precious  crea 
ture  whom  I  shall  love  must  be  your  resemblance. 
Your " 

"Have  done  with  these  comparisons,"  interrupted  she, 
in  some  hurry,  "and  let  us  return  to  the  country  -girl, 
thy  Bess. 

"You  once,  my  friend,  wished  me  to  treat  this  girl  of 
yours  as  my  sister.  Do  you  know  what  the  duties  of  a 
sister  are?" 

"They  imply  no   more   kindness   or   affection    than 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR   1793.  19! 

you  already  feel  towards  my  Bess.  Are  you  not  her 
sister?" 

"I  ought  to  have  been  so.  I  ought  to  have  been 
proud  of  the  relation  you  ascribe  to  me,  but  I  have  not 
performed  any  of  its  duties.  I  blush  to  think  upon  the 
coldness  and  perverseness  of  my  heart.  With  such 
means  as  I  possess,  of  giving  happiness  to  others,  I  have 
been  thoughtless  and  inactive  to  a  strange  degree ;  per 
haps,  however,  it  is  not  yet  too  late.  Are  you  still 
willing  to  invest  me  with  all  the  rights  of  an  elder  sister 
over  this  girl?  And  will  she  consent,  think  you?" 

. "  Certainly  she  will ;  she  has." 

"  Then  the  first  act  of  sistership  will  be  to  take  her 
from  the  country ;  from  persons  on  whose  kindness  she 
has  no  natural  claim,  whose  manners  and  characters  are 
unlike  her  own,  and  with  whom  no  improvement  can  be 
expected,  and  bring  her  back  to  her  sister's  house  and 
bosom,  to  provide  for  her  subsistence  and  education,  and 
watch  over  her  happiness. 

"I  will  not  be  a  nominal  sister.  I  will  not  be  a  sister 
by  halves.  All  the  rights  of  that  relation  I  will  have, 
or  none.  As  for  you,  you  have  claims  upon  her  on  which 
I  must  be  permitted  to  judge,  as  becomes  the  elder  sister, 
who,  by  the  loss  of  all  other  relations,  must  occupy  the 
place,  possess  the  rights,  and  fulfil  the  duties,  of  father, 
mother,  and  brother. 

"  She  has  now  arrived  at  an  age  when  longer  to  re 
main  in  a  cold  and  churlish  soil  will  stunt  her  growth 
and  wither  her  blossoms.  We  must  hasten  to  trans 
plant  her  to  a  genial  element  and  a  garden  well  en 
closed.  Having  so  long  neglected  this  charming  plant, 
it  becomes  me  henceforth  to  take  her  wholly  to  myself. 

"And  now,  for  it  is  no  longer  in  her  or  your  power  to 
take  back  the  gift,  since  she  is  fully  mine,  I  will  charge 
you  with  the  otifice  of  conducting  her  hither.  I  grant  it 
you  as  a  favour.  Will  you  go  ?" 

"Go  !  I  will  fly  !"  I  exclaimed,  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy, 
"on  pinions  swifter  than  the  wind.  Not  the  lingering 
of  an  instant  will  I  bear.  Look  !  one,  two,  three — 
thirty  minutes  after  nine.  I  will  reach  Curling's  gate 
by  the  morn's  dawn.  I  will  put  my  girl  into  a  chaise, 


IQ2  ARTHUR   MERVYN;    OK, 

and  by  noon  she  shall  throw  herself  into  the  arms  of  her 
sister.  But  first,  shall  I  not,  in  some  way,  manifest  my 
gratitude  ?" 

My  senses  were  bewildered,  and  I  knew  not  what  I 
did.  I  intended  to  kneel,  as  to  my  mother  or  my  deity; 
but,  instead  of  that,  1  clasped  her  in  my  arms,  and  kissed 
her  lips  fervently.  I  stayed  not  to  discover  the  effects 
of  this  insanity,  but  left  the  room  and  the  house,  and, 
calling  for  a  moment  at  Stevens's,  left  word  with  the 
servant,  my  friend  being  gone  abroad,  that  I  should  not 
return  till  the  morrow. 

Never  was  a  lighter  heart,  a  gayety  more  overflowing 
and  more  buoyant,  than  mine.  All  cold  from  a  bois 
terous  night,  at  a  chilly  season,  all  weariness  from  a 
rugged  and  miry  road,  were  charmed  away.  I  might 
have  ridden ;  but  I  could  not  brook  delay,  even  the 
delay  of  inquiring  for  and  equipping  a  horse.  I  might 
thus  have  saved  myself  fatigue,  arid  have  lost  no  time ; 
but  my  mind  was  in  too  great  a  tumult  for  deliberation 
and  forecast.  I  saw  nothing  but  the  image  of  my  girl, 
whom  my  tidings  would  render  happy. 

The  way  was  longer  than  my  fond  imagination  had 
foreseen.  I  did  not  reach  Curling's  till  an  hour  after 
sunrise.  The  distance  was  full  thirty-five  miles.  As  I 
hastened  up  the  green  lane  leading  to  the  house,  I  spied 
my  Bess  passing  through  a  covered  way,  between  the 
dwelling  and  kitchen.  I  caught  her  eye.  She  stopped 
and  held  up  her  hands,  and  then  ran  into  my  arms. 

"  What  means  my  girl  ?  Why  this  catching  of  the 
breath  ?  Why  this  sobbing  ?  Look  at  me,  my  love.  It 
is  Arthur, — he  who  has  treated  you  with  forgetfulness, 
neglect,  and  cruelty." 

"  Oh,  do  not,"  she  replied,  hiding  her  face  with  her 
hand.  "One  sjngle  reproach,  added  to  my  own,  will 
kill  me.  That  foolish,  wicked  letter — I  could  tear  my 
fingers  for  writing  it." 

"But,"  said  I,  "I  will  kiss  them;"  and  put  them  to 
my  lips.  "  They  have  told  me  the  wishes  of  my  girl. 
They  have  enabled  me  to  gratify  her  wishes.  I  have 
come  to  carry  thee  this  very  moment  to  town." 

"  Lord  bless  me,  Arthur,"  said  she,  lost  in  a  sweet  con- 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  193 

fusion,  and  her  cheeks,  always  glowing,  glowing  still  more 

deeply,  "  indeed,  I  did  not  mean 1  meant  only 1 

will  stay  here 1  would  rather  stay " 

"  It  grieves  me  to  hear  that,"  said  I,  with  earnestness  ; 
"  I  thought  I  was  studying  our  mutual  happiness." 

"  It  grieves  you  ?  Don't  say  so.  I  would  not  grieve 
you  for  the  world ;  but,  indeed,  indeed,  it  is  too  soon. 
Such  a  girl  as  I  am  not  yet  fit  to — live  in  your  city." 
Again  she  hid  her  glowing  face  in  my  bosom. 

"  Sweet  consciousness !  Heavenly  innocence !"  thought 
I;  "  may  Achsa's  conjectures  prove  false! — You  have 
mistaken  my  design,  for  I  do  not  intend  to  carry  you  to 
town  with  such  a  view  as  you  have  hinted ;  but  merely 
to  place  you  with  a  beloved  friend,  with  Achsa  Fielding, 
of  whom  already  you  know  so  much,  where  we  shall 
enjoy  each  other's  company  without  restraint  or  inter 
mission." 

I  then  proceeded  to  disclose  to  her  the  plan  suggested 
by  my  friend,  and  to  explain  all  the  consequences  that 
would  flow  from  it.  I  need  not  say  that  she  assented  to 
the  scheme.  She  was  all  rapture  and  gratitude.  Pre 
parations  for  departure  were  easily  and  speedily  made. 
I  hired  a  chaise  of  a  neighbouring  farmer,  and,  accord 
ing  to  my  promise,  by  noon  the  same  day,  delivered  the 
timid  and  bashful  girl  into  the  arms  of  her  new  sister. 

She  was  received  with  the  utmost  tenderness,  not  only 
by  Mrs.  Fielding,  but  by  all  ray  friends.  Her  affectionate 
heart  was  encouraged  to  pour  forth  all  its  feeling  as  into 
the  bosom  of  a  mother.  She  was  reinspired  with  con 
fidence.  Her  want  of  experience  was  supplied  by  the 
gentlest  admonitions  and  instructions.  In  every  plan 
for  her  improvement  suggested  by  her  new  mamma,  (for 
she  never  called  her  by  any  other  name,)  she  engaged 
with  docility  and  eagerness ;  and  her  behaviour  and  her 
progress  exceeded  the  most  sanguine  hopes  that  I  had 
formed  as  to  the  softness  of  her  temper  and  the  acute- 
ness  of  her  genius. 

Those  graces  which  a  polished  education,  and  inter 
course  with  the  better  classes  of  society,  are  adapted  to 
give,  my  girl  possessed,  in  some  degree,  by  a  native  and 
intuitive  refinement  and  sagacity  of  mind.  All  that  was 
13 


194  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

to  be  obtained  from  actual  observation  and  instruction 
was  obtained  without  difficulty ;  and  in  a  short  time  no 
thing  but  the  affectionate  simplicity  and  unperverted  feel 
ings  of  the  country-girl  bespoke  the  original  condition. 

"What  art  so  busy  about,  Arthur?  Always  at  thy 
pen  of  late.  Come,  I  must  know  the  fruit  of  all  this 
toil  and  all  this  meditation.  I  am  determined  to  scrape 
acquaintance  with  Ilaller  and  Linnaeus.  I  will  begin 
this  very  day.  All  one's  friends,  you  know,  should  be 
ours.  Love  has  made  many  a  patient,  and  let  me  see  if 
it  cannot,  in  my  case,  make  a  physician.  But,  first, 
what  is  all  this  writing  about?" 

"  Mrs.  Wentworth  lias  put  me  upon  a  strange  task, — 
not  disagreeable,  however,  but  such  as  I  should,  perhaps, 
have  declined,  had  not  the  absence  of  my  Bess,  and  her 
mamma,  made  the  time  hang  somewhat  heavy.  I  have, 
oftener  than  once,  and  far  more  circumstantially  than 
now,  told  her  my  adventures,  but  she  is  not  satisfied. 
She  wants  a  written  narrative,  for  some  purpose  which 
she  tells  me  she  will  disclose  to  me  hereafter. 

"  Luckily,  my  friend  Stevens  has  saved  me  more  than 
half  the  trouble.  He  has  done  me  the  favour  to  compile 
much  of  my  history  with  his  own  hand.  I  cannot  ima 
gine  what  could  prompt  him  to  so  wearisome  an  under 
taking  ;  but  he  says  that  adventures  and  a  destiny  so 
singular  as  mine  ought  not  to  be  abandoned  to  forget- 
fulness  like  any  vulgar  and  every-day  existence.  Be 
sides,  when  he  wrote  it,  he  suspected  that  it  might  be 
necessary  to  the  safety  of  my  reputation  and  my  life, 
from  the  consequences  of  my  connection  with  Welbeck. 
Time  has  annihilated  that  danger.  All  enmities  and  all 
suspicions  are  buried  with  that  ill-fated  wretch.  Wortley 
has  been  won  by  my  behaviour,  and  confides  in  my  in 
tegrity  now  as  much  as  he  formerly  suspected  it.  I  am 
glad,  however,  that  the  task  was  performed.  It  has 
saved  me  a  world  of  writing.  I  had  only  to  take  up  the 
broken  thread,  and  bring  it  down  to  the  period  of  my 
present  happiness  ;  and  this  was  done,  just  as  you  tripped 
along  the  entry  this  morning. 

"  To  bed,  my  friend  ;  it  is  late,  and  this  delicate  frame 
is  not  half  so  able  to  encounter  fatigue  as  a  youth  spent 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  195 

in  the  hay-field  and  the  dairy  might  have  been  expected 
to  be." 

"  I  will,  but  let  me  take  these  sheets  along  with  me.  I 
will  read  them,  that  I  am  determined,  before  I  sleep, 
and  watch  if  you  have  told  the  whole  truth." 

"  Do  so,  if  you  please ;  but  remember  one  thing.  Mrs. 
Wentworth  requested  me  to  write  not  as  if  it  were  de 
signed  for  her  perusal,  but  for  those  who  have  no  pre 
vious  knowledge  of  her  or  of  me.  'Twas  an  odd  request. 
I  cannot  imagine  what  she  means  by  it,  but  she  never 
acts  without  good  reason,  and  I  have  done  so.  And 
now,  withdraw,  my  dear,  and  farewell." 


CHAPTER  XL VI. 

MOVE  on,  my  quill !  wait  not  for  my  guidance.  Re 
animated  with  thy  master's  spirit,  all  airy  light !  A 
heyday  rapture  !  A  mounting  impulse  sways  him :  lifts 
him  from  the  earth. 

I  must,  cost  what  it  will,  rein  in  this  upward-pulling, 
forward-going — what  shall  I  call  it?  But  there  are 
times,  and  now  is  one  of  them,  when  words  are  poor. 

It  will  not  do — down  this  hill,  up  that  steep  ;  through 
this  thicket,  over  that  hedge — I  have  laboured  to  fatigue 
myself:  to  reconcile  me  to  repose ;  to  lolling  on  a  sofa ; 
to  poring  over  a  book,  to  any  thing  that  might  win  for 
my  heart  a  respite  from  these  throbs  ;  to  deceive  me  into 
a  few  tolerable  moments  of  forgetfulness. 

Let  me  see ;  they  tell  me  this  is  Monday  night.  Only 
three  days  yet  to  come  !  If  thus  restless  to-day ;  if  my 
heart  thus  bounds  till  its  mansion  scarcely  can  hold  it, 
what  must  be  my  state  to-morrow !  What  next  day ! 
What  as  the  hour  hastens  on  ;  as  the  sun  descends ;  as 
my  hand  touches  hers  in  sign  of  wedded  unity,  of  love 
without  interval ;  of  concord  without  end  ! 

I  must  quell  these  tumults.  They  will  disable  me 
else.  They  will  wear  out  all  my  strength.  They  will 
drain  away  life  itself.  But  who  could  have  thought ! 
So  soon  !  Not  three  months  since  I  first  set  eyes  upon 
her.  Not  three  weeks  since  our  plighted  love,  and  only 
three  days  to  terminate  suspense  and  give  me  all. 

I  must  compel  myself  to  quiet;  to  sleep.  I  must 
find  some  refuge  from  anticipations  so  excruciating.  All 
extremes  are  agonies.  A  joy  like  this  is  too  big  for  this 
narrow  tenement.  I  must  thrust  it  forth  ;  I  must  bar 
and  bolt  it  out  for  a  time,  or  these  frail  walls  will  burst 
196 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  197 

asunder.  The  pen  is  a  pacifier.  It  checks  the  mind's 
career ;  it  circumscribes  her  wanderings.  It  traces  out 
and  compels  us  to  adhere  to  one  path.  It  ever  was  my 
friend.  Often  it  has  blunted  my  vexations  ;  hushed  my 
stormy  passions ;  turned  my  peevishness  to  soothing ; 
my  fierce  revenge  to  heart-dissolving  pity. 

Perhaps  it  will  befriend  me  now.  It  may  temper  my 
impetuous  wishes  ;  lull  my  intoxication  ;  and  render  my 
happiness  supportable ;  and,  indeed,  it  has  produced 
partly  this  effect  already.  My  blood,  within  the  few 
minutes  thus  employed,  flows  with  less  destructive  ra 
pidity.  My  thoughts  range  themselves  in  less  disorder. 
And,  now  that  the  conquest  is  effected,  what  shall  I  say  ? 
I  must  continue  at  the  pen,  or  shall  immediately  relapse. 

What  shall  I  say  ?  Let  me  look  back  upon  the  steps 
that  led  me  hither.  Let  me  recount  the  preliminaries. 
I  cannot  do  better. 

And  first  as  to  Achsa  Fielding, — to  describe  this 
woman. 

To  recount,  in  brief,  so  much  of  her  history  as  has 
come  to  my  knowledge  will  best  account  for  that  zeal, 
almost  to  idolatry,  with  which  she  has,  ever  since  I 
thoroughly  knew  her,  been  regarded  by  me. 

Never  saw  I  one  to  whom  the  term  lovely  more  truly 
belonged.  And  yet  in  stature  she  is  too  low ;  in  com 
plexion  dark  and  almost  sallow ;  and  her  eyes,  though 
black  and  of  piercing  lustre,  have  a  cast  which  I  cannot 
well  explain.  It  lessens  without  destroying  their  lustre 
and  their  force  to  charm ;  but  all  personal  defects  are 
outweighed  by  her  heart  and  her  intellect.  There  is  the 
secret  of  her  power  to  entrance  the  soul  of  the  listener 
and  beholder.  It  is  not  only  when  she  sings  that  her 
utterance  is  musical.  It  is  not  only  when  the  occasion 
is  urgent  and  the  topic  momentous  that  her  eloquence  is 
rich  and  flowing.  They  are  always  so. 

I  had  vowed  to  love  her  and  serve  her,  and  been  her 
frequent  visitant,  long  before  I  was  acquainted  with  her 
past  life.  I  had  casually  picked  up  some  intelligence, 
from  others,  or  from  her  own  remarks.  I  knew  very 
soon  that  she  was  English  by  birth,  and  had  been  only  a 
year  and  a  half  in  America ;  that  she  had  scarcely  passed 


198  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

her  twenty-fifth  year,  and  was  still  embellished  with  all 
the  graces  of  youth  ;  that  she  had  been  a  wife ;  but  was 
uninformed  whether  the  knot  had  been  untied  by  death 
or  divorce ;  that  she  possessed  considerable,  and  even 
splendid,  fortune ;  but  the  exact  amount,  and  all  besides 
these  particulars,  were  unknown  to  me  till  some  time 
after  our  acquaintance  was  begun. 

One  evening  she  had  been  talking  very  earnestly  on 
the  influence  annexed,  in  Great  Britain,  to  birth,  and 
had  given  me  some  examples  of  this  influence.  Mean 
while  my  eyes  were  fixed  steadfastly  on  hers.  The  pe 
culiarity  in  their  expression  never  before  affected  me  so 
strongly.  A  vague  resemblance  to  something  seen  else 
where,  on  the  same  day,  occurred,  and  occasioned  me  to 
exclaim,  suddenly,  in  a  pause  of  her  discourse, — 

"As  I  live,  my  good  mamma,  those  eyes  of  yours 
have  told  me  a  secret.  I  almost  think  they  spoke  to 
me ;  and  I  am  not  less  amazed  at  the  strangeness  than 
at  the  distinctness  of  their  story." 

"And,  pr'ythee,  what  have  they  said?" 

"  Perhaps  I  was  mistaken.  I  might  have  been  de 
ceived  by  a  fancied  voice,  or  have  confounded  one  word 
with  another  near  akin  to  it;  but  let  me  die  if  I  did  not 
think  they  said  that  you  were — -a  Jew." 

At  this  sound,  her  features  were  instantly  veiled  with 
the  deepest  sorrow  and  confusion.  She  put  her  hand  to 
her  eyes,  the  tears  started,  and  she  sobbed.  My  surprise 
at  this  effect  of  my  words  was  equal  to  my  contrition.  1 
besought  her  to  pardon  me  for  having  thus  unknowingly 
alarmed  and  grieved  her. 

After  she  had  regained  some  composure,  she  said,  "You 
have  not  offended,  Arthur.  Your  surmise  was  just  and 
natural,  and  could  not  always  have  escaped  you.  Con 
nected  with  that  word  are  many  sources  of  anguish, 
which  time  has  not,  and  never  will,  dry  up;  and  the  less 
1  think  of  past  events  the  less  will  my  peace  be  disturbed. 
I  was  desirous  that  you  should  know  nothing  of  me  but 
what  you  see;  nothing  but  the  present  and  the  future, 
merely  that  no  allusions  might  occur  in  our  conversation 
which  will  call  up  sorrows  and  regrets  that  will  avail 
nothing. 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAK   /7?J.  199 

"I  now  perceive  the  folly  of  endeavouring  to  keep  you 
in  ignorance,  and  shall  therefore,  once  for  all,  inform 
you  of  what  has  befallen  me,  that  your  inquiries  and 
suggestions  may  be  made  and  fully  satisfied  at  once,  and 
your  curiosity  have  no  motive  for  calling  back  my  thoughts 
to  what  I  ardently  desire  to  bury  in  oblivion. 

"My  father  was  indeed  a  Jew,  arid  one  of  the  most 
opulent  of  his  nation  in  London, — a  Portuguese  by  birth, 
but  came  to  London  when  a  boy.  He  had  few  of  the 
moral  or  external  qualities  of  Jews ;  for  I  suppose  there 
is  some  justice  in  the  obloquy  that  follows  them  so  closely. 
He  was  frugal  without  meanness,  and  cautious  in  his 
dealings,  without  extortion.  I  need  not  fear  to  say  this, 
for  it  was  the  general  voice. 

"  Me,  an  only  child,  and,  of  course,  the  darling  of  my 
parents,  they  trained  up  in  the  most  liberal  manner.  My 
education  was  purely  English.  I  learned  the  same  things 
and  of  the  same  masters  with  my  neighbours.  Except 
frequenting  their  church  and  repeating  their  creed,  and 
partaking  of  the  same  food,  I  saw  no  difference  between 
them  and  me.  Hence  I  grew  more  indifferent,  perhaps, 
than  was  proper,  to  the  distinctions  of  religion.  They 
were  never  enforced  upon  me.  No  pains  were  taken  to 
fill  me  with  scruples  and  antipathies.  They  never  stood, 
as  I  may  say,  upon  the  threshold.  They  were  often 
thought  upon,  but  were  vague  and  easily  eluded  or  for 
gotten. 

"  Hence  it  was  that  my  heart  too  readily  admitted  im 
pressions  that  more  zeal  and  more  parental  caution  would 
have  saved  me  from.  They  could  scarcely  be  avoided, 
as  my  society  was  wholly  English,  and  my  youth,  my 
education,  and  my  father's  wealth  made  me  an  object  of 
much  attention.  And  the  same  causes  that  lulled  to 
sleep  my  own  watchfulness  had  the  same  effect  upon  that 
of  others.  To  regret  or  to  praise  this  remissncss  is  now 
too  late.  Certain  it  is,  that  my  destiny,  and  not  a  happy 
destiny,  was  fixed  by  it. 

"The  fruit  of  this  remissness  was  a  passion  for  one 
who  fully  returned  it.  Almost  as  young  as  I,  who  was 
only  sixteen ;  he  knew  as  little  as  myself  what  obstacles 
the  difference  of  our  births  was  likely  to  raise  between 


200  ARTHUR  MERVY.V;    OR, 

us.  His  father,  Sir  Ralph  Fielding,  a  man  nobly  born, 
high  in  office,  splendidly  allied,  could  not  be  expected  to 
consent  to  the  marriage  of  his  eldest  son,  in  such  green 
youth,  to  the  daughter  of  an  alien,  a  Portuguese,  a  Jew; 
but  these  impediments  were  not  seen  by  my  ignorance, 
and  were  overlooked  by  the  youth's  passion. 

"But,  strange  to  tell,  what  common  prudence  would 
have  so  confidently  predicted  did  not  happen.  Sir  Ralph 
had  a  numerous  family,  likely  to  be  still  more  so;  had 
but  slender  patrimony ;  the  income  of  his  offices  nearly 
made  up  his  all.  The  young  man  was  headstrong,  im 
petuous,  and  would  probably  disregard  the  inclinations 
of  his  family.  Yet  the  father  would  not  consent  but  on 
one  condition, — that  of  my  admission  to  the  English 
Church. 

No  very  strenuous  opposition  to  these  terms  could  be 
expected  from  me.  At  so  thoughtless  an  age,  with  an 
education  so  unfavourable  to  religious  impressions; 
swayed,  likewise,  by  the  strongest  of  human  passions; 
made  somewhat  impatient,  by  the  company  I  kept,  of 
the  disrepute  and  scorn  to  which  the  Jewish  nation  are 
everywhere  condemned,  I  ceuld  not  be  expected  to  be 
yery  averse  to  the  scheme. 

••  My  fears  as  to  what  my  father's  decision  would  be 
were  soon  at  an  end.  He  loved  his  child  too  well  to 
thwart  her  wishes  in  so  essential  a  point.  Finding  in 
me  no  scruples,  no  unwillingness,  he  thought  it  absurd  to 
be  scrupulous  for  me.  My  own  heart  having  abjured 
my  religion,  it  was  absurd  to  make  any  difficulty  about 
a  formal  renunciation.  These  were  his  avowed  reasons 
for  concurrence,  but  time  showed  that  he  had  probably 
other  reasons,  founded,  indeed,  in  his  regard  for  my 
happiness,  but  such  as,  if  they  had  been  known,  would 
probably  have  strengthened  into  invincible  the  reluctance 
of  my  lover's  family. 

No  marriage  was  ever  attended  with  happier  presages. 
The  numerous  relations  of  my  husband  admitted  me  with 
the  utmost  cordiality  among  them.  My  father's  tender 
ness  was  unabated  by  this  change,  and  those  humiliations 
to  which  I  had  before  been  exposed  were  now  no  more; 
and  every  tie  was  strengthened,  at  the  end  of  a  year,  by 


MEMOIRS  Of    THE    YEAR  /79J.  2OI 

the  feelings  of  a  mother.  I  had  need,  indeed,  to  know 
a  season  of  happiness,  that  I  might  be  fitted  to  endure 
the  sad  reverses  that  succeeded.  One  after  the  other 
my  disasters  came,  each  one  more  heavy  than  the  last, 
and  in  such  swift  succession  that  they  hardly  left  me 
time  to  breathe. 

"I  had  scarcely  left  my  chamber,  I  had  scarcely  re 
covered  my  usual  health,  and  was  able  to  press  with  true 
fervour  the  new  and  precious  gift  to  my  bosom,  when 
melancholy  tidings  came.  I  was  in  the  country,  at  the 
seat  of  my  father-in-law,  when  the  messenger  arrived. 

"A  shocking  tale  it  was !  and  told  abruptly,  with  every 
unpitying  aggravation.  I  hinted  to  you  once  my  father's 
death.  The  kind  of  death — oh  !  my  friend !  It  was 
horrible.  He  was  then  a  placid,  venerable  old  man ; 
though  many  symptoms  of  disquiet  had  long  before  been 
discovered  by  my  mother's  watchful  tenderness.  Yet 
none  could  suspect  him  capable  of  such  a  deed;  for  none, 
so  carefully  had  he  conducted  his  affairs,  suspected  the 
havoc  that  mischance  had  made  of  his  property. 

"  I,  that  had  so  much  reason  to  love  my  father. — I  will 
leave  you  to  imagine  how  I  was  affected  by  a  catastrophe 
so  dreadful,  so  unlooked-for.  Much  less  could  I  suspect 
the  cause  of  his  despair ;  yet  he  had  foreseen  his  ruin 
before  my  marriage ;  had  resolved  to  defer  it  for  his 
daughter's  and  his  wife's  sake,  as  long  as  possible,  but 
had  still  determined  not  to  survive  the  day  that  should 
reduce  him  to  indigence.  The  desperate  act  was  thus 
preconcerted — thus  deliberate. 

"  The  true  state  of  his  affairs  was  laid  open  by  his  death. 
The  failure  of  great  mercantile  houses  at  Frankfort  and 
Liege  was  the  cause  of  his  disasters. 

"Thus  were  my  prospects  shut  in.  That  wealth 
which,  no  doubt,  furnished  the  chief  inducement  with 
my  husband's  family  to  concur  in  his  choice,  was  now 
suddenly  exchanged  for  poverty. 

"Bred  up,  as  I  had  been,  in  pomp  and  luxury;  con 
scious  that  my  wealth  was  my  chief  security  from  the 
contempt  of  the  proud  and  bigoted,  and  my  chief  title 
to  the  station  to  which  I  had  been  raised,  and  which  I 
the  more  delighted  in  because  it  enabled  me  to  confer  so 


.     -    _ 


:  '     -.     . 
i    v   - 


---.--.     i .  •  -  - 

•  .   ..    • 


.    . 

.  -•-.-      T_ 

•      -      - 


-       - 

_ 


- 


. 
-D 


-  *  - 


i  •    - 


"5*  «e  *  tto  virii,  **  I 

-    .-   -  :1-   •    :-"    " 

-  ...-    .-.-_.-_-     :    :    --  - 
•r  In  •  MJI  ;  txw^jim.  bar 

: 

:        :.--•-    _• 
-      -    - 
-     :  : 


------ 


-  - 


204  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

this  fatal  intercourse,  not  indifferent  to  his  wife  and 
child  ! — Yet  so  it  was  ! 

"I  saw  his  discontents;  his  struggles;  I  heard  him 
curse  this  woman,  and  the  more  deeply  for  my  attempts, 
unconscious  as  I  was  of  her  machinations,  to  reconcile 
them  to  each  other,  to  do  away  what  seemed  a  causeless 
indignation,  or  antipathy  against  her.  How  little  I  sus 
pected  the  nature  of  the  conflict  in  his  heart,  between  a 
new  passion  and  the  claims  of  pride ;  of  conscience  and 
of  humanity  ;  the  claims  of  a  child  and  a  wife ;  a  wife, 
already  in  affliction,  and  placing  all  that  yet  remained 
of  happiness,  in  the  firmness  of  his  virtue ;  in  the  con 
tinuance  of  his  love ;  a  wife,  at  the  very  hour  of  his 
meditated  flight,  full  of  terrors  at  the  near  approach  of 
an  event  whose  agonies  demand  a  double  share  of  a  hus 
band's  supporting,  encouraging  love 

"  Good  Heaven !  For  what  evils  are  some  of  thy 
creatures  reserved !  Resignation  to  thy  decree,  in  the 
last  and  most  cruel  distress,  was,  indeed,  a  hard  task. 

"  He  was  gone.  Some  unavoidable  engagement  call 
ing  him  to  Hamburg  was  pleaded.  Yet  to  leave  me  at 
such  an  hour!  I  dared  not  upbraid,  nor  object.  The 
tale  was  so  specious  !  The  fortunes  of  a  friend  depended 
on  his  punctual  journey.  The  falsehood  of  his  story  too 
soon  made  itself  known.  He  was  gone,  in  company  with 
his  detested  paramour ! 

"  Yet,  though  my  vigilance  was  easily  deceived,  it  was 
not  so  with  others.  A  creditor,  who  had  his  bond  for 
three  thousand  pounds,  pursued  and  arrested  him  at 
Harwich.  He  was  thrown  into  prison,  but  his  com 
panion — let  me,  at  least,  say  that  in  her  praise — would 
not  desert  him.  She  took  lodging  near  the  place  of  his 
confinement,  and  saw  him  daily.  That,  had  she  not 
done  it,  and  had  my  personal  condition  allowed,  should 
have  been  my  province. 

"Indignation  and  grief  hastened  the  painful  crisis  with 
me.  I  did  not  weep  that  the  second  fruit  of  this  unhappy 
union  saw  not  the  light.  I  wept  only  that  this  hour  of 
agony  was  not,  to  its  unfortunate  mother,  the  last. 

"I  felt  not  anger;  I  had  nothing  but  compassion  for 
Fielding.  Gladly  would  I  have  recalled  him  to  my  arms 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793. 

and  to  virtue ;  I  wrote,  adjuring  him,  by  all  our  past 
joys,  to  return  ;  vowing  only  gratitude  for  his  new  affec 
tion,  and  claiming  only  the  recompense  of  seeing  him 
restored  to  his  family ;  to  liberty ;  to  reputation. 

"  But,  alas  !  Fielding  had  a  good  but  a  proud  heart. 
He  looked  upon  his  error  with  remorse,  with  self-detesta 
tion,  and  with  the  fatal  belief  that  it  could  not  be  re 
trieved  ;  shame  made  him  withstand  all  my  reasonings 
and  persuasions,  and,  in  the  hurry  of  his  feelings,  he 
made  solemn  vows  that  he  would,  in  the  moment  of  re 
stored  liberty,  abjure  his  country  and  his  family  forever. 
He  bore  indignantly  the  yoke  of  his  new  attachment,  but 
he  strove  in  vain  to  shake  it  off.  Her  behaviour,  always 
yielding,  doting,  supplicative,  preserved  him  in  her  fet 
ters.  Though  upbraided,  spurned,  and  banished  from 
his  presence,  she  would  not  leave  him,  but,  by  new 
efforts  and  new  artifices,  soothed,  appeased,  and  won 
again  and  kept  his  tenderness. 

"  What  my  entreaties  were  unable  to  effect,  his  father 
could  not  hope  to  accomplish.  He  offered  to  take  him 
from  prison ;  the  creditor  offered  to  cancel  the  bond,  if 
he  would  return  to  me ;  but  this  condition  he  refused. 
All  his  kindred,  and  one  who  had  been  his  bosom-friend 
from  childhood,  joined  in  beseeching  his  compliance  with 
these  conditions ;  but  his  pride,  his  dread  of  my  merited 
reproaches,  the  merits  and  dissuasions  of  his  new  com 
panion,  whose  sacrifices  for  his  sake  had  not  been  small, 
were  obstacles  which  nothing  could  subdue. 

"  Far,  indeed,  was  I  from  imposing  these  conditions.  I 
waited  only  till,  by  certain  arrangements,  I  could  gather 
enough  to  pay  his  debts,  to  enable  him  to  execute  his 
vow :  empty  would  have  been  my  claims  to  his  affection, 
if  I  could  have  suffered,  with  the  means  of  his  deliver 
ance  in  my  hands,  my  husband  to  remain  a  moment  in 
prison. 

"  The  remains  of  my  father's  vast  fortune  was  a  jointure 
of  a  thousand  pounds  a  year,  settled  on  my  mother,  and, 
after  her  death,  on  me.  My  mother's  helpless  condition 
put  this  revenue  into  my  disposal.  By  this  means  was  I 
enabled,  without  the  knowledge  of  my  father-in-law  or 
my  husband,  to  purchase  the  debt,  and  dismiss  him  from 


206  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

prison.  He  set  out  instantly,  in  company  with  his  para- 
mour,  to  France. 

"When  somewhat  recovered  from  the  shock  of  this 
calamity,  I  took  up  my  abode  with  my  mother.  What 
she  had  was  enough,  as  you  perhaps  will  think,  for 
plentiful  subsistence ;  but  to  us,  with  habits  of  a  dif 
ferent  kind,  it  was  little  better  than  poverty.  That 
reflection,  my  father's  memory,  my  mother's  deplorable 
state,  which  every  year  grew  worse,  and  the  late  mis 
fortune,  were  the  chief  companions  of  my  thoughts. 

"  The  dear  child,  whose  smiles  were  uninterrupted  by 
his  mother's  afflictions,  was  some  consolation  in  my  soli 
tude.  To  his  instruction  and  to  my  mother's  wants  all 
my  hours  were  devoted.  I  was  sometimes  not  without 
the  hope  of  better  days.  Full  as  my  mind  was  of  Field 
ing's  merits,  convinced  by  former  proofs  of  his  ardent 
and  generous  spirit,  I  trusted  that  time  and  reflection 
would  destroy  that  spell  by  which  he  was  now  bound. 

"  For  some  time,  the  progress  of  these  reflections  was 
not  known.  In  leaving  England,  Fielding  dropped  all 
correspondence  and  connection  with  his  native  country. 
He  parted  with  the  woman  at  Rouen,  leaving  no  trace 
behind  him  by  which  she  might  follow  him,  as  she  wished 
to  do.  She  never  returned  to  England,  but  died  a 
twelvemonth  afterwards  in  Switzerland. 

"As  to  me,  I  had  only  to  muse  day  and  night  upon 
the  possible  destiny  of  this  beloved  fugitive.  His  in 
censed  father  cared  not  for  him.  He  had  cast  him  out 
of  his  paternal  affections,  ceased  to  make  inquiries  re 
specting  him,  and  even  wished  never  to  hear  of  him 
again.  My  boy  succeeded  to  my  husband's  place  in  his 
grandfather's  affections,  and  in  the  hopes  and  views  of 
the  family ;  and  his  mother  wanted  nothing  which  their 
compassionate  and  respectful  love  could  bestow. 

"  Three  long  and  tedious  years  passed  away,  and  no 
tidings  were  received.  Whether  he  were  living  or  dead, 
nobody  could  tell.  At  length,  an  English  traveller, 
going  out  of  the  customary  road  from  Italy,  met  with 
Fielding,  in  a  town  in  the  Venaissin.  His  manners, 
habits,  and  language,  had  become  French.  He  seemed 
unwilling  to  be  recognised  by  an  old  acquaintance,  but, 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  2O/ 

not  being  able  to  avoid  this,  and  becoming  gradually 
familiar,  he  informed  the  traveller  of  many  particulars 
in  his  present  situation.  It  appeared  that  he  had  made 
himself  useful  to  a  neighbouring  seigneur,  in  whose 
chateau  he  had  long  lived  on  the  footing  of  a  brother. 
France  he  had  resolved  to  make  his  future  country,  and, 
among  other  changes  for  that  end,  he  had  laid  aside  his 
English  name,  and  taken  that  of  his  patron,  which  was 
Perrin.  He  had  endeavoured  to  compensate  himself 
for  all  other  privations,  by  devoting  himself  to  rural 
amusements  and  to  study. 

"He  carefully  shunned  all  inquiries  respecting  me; 
but,  when  my  name  was  mentioned  by  his  friend,  who 
knew  well  all  that  had  happened,  and  my  general  wel 
fare,  together  with  that  of  his  son,  asserted,  he  showed 
deep  sensibility,  and  even  consented  that  I  should  be 
made  acquainted  with  his  situation. 

"I  cannot  describe  the  effect  of  this  intelligence  on 
me.  My  hopes  of  bringing  him  back  to  me  were  sud 
denly  revived.  I  wrote  him  a  letter,  in  which  I  poured 
forth  my  whole  heart ;  but  his  answer  contained  avowals 
of  all  his  former  resolutions,  to  which  time  had  only 
made  his  adherence  more  easy.  A  second  and  third  let 
ter  were  written,  and  an  offer  made  to  follow  him  to  his 
retreat  and  share  his  exile ;  but  all  my  efforts  availed 
nothing.  He  solemnly  and  repeatedly  renounced  all  the 
claims  of  a  husband  over  me,  and  absolved  me  from 
every  obligation  as  a  wife. 

"  His  part  in  this  correspondence  was  performed  with 
out  harshness  or  contempt.  A  strange  mixture  there 
was  of  pathos  and  indifference ;  of  tenderness  and  reso 
lution.  Hence  I  continually  derived  hope,  which  time, 
however,  brought  no  nearer  to  certainty. 

"  At  the  opening  of  the  Revolution,  the  name  of  Per 
rin  appeared  among  the  deputies  to  the  constituent  as 
sembly  for  the  district  in  which  he  resided.  He  had 
thus  succeeded  in  gaining  all  the  rights  of  a  French 
citizen ;  and  the  hopes  of  his  return  became  almost  ex 
tinct  ;  but  that,  and  every  other  hope  respecting  him,  has 
since  been  totally  extinguished  by  his  marriage  with 


208  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

Marguerite  d'Almont,  a  young  lady  of  great  merit  and 
fortune,  and  a  native  of  Avignon. 

"A  long  period  of  suspense  was  now  at  an  end,  and 
left  me  in  a  state  almost  as  full  of  anguish  as  that  which 
our  first  separation  produced.  My  sorrows  were  increased 
by  my  mother's  death,  and,  this  incident  freeing  me  from 
those  restraints  upon  my  motions  which  before  existed,  I 
determined  to  come  to  America. 

"My  son  was  now  eight  years  old,  and,  his  grand 
father  claiming  the  province  of  his  instruction,  I  was 
persuaded  to  part  with  him,  that  he  might  be  sent  to  a 
distant  school.  Thus  was  another  tie  removed,  and,  in 
spite  of  the  well-meant  importunities  of  my  friends,  I 
persisted  in  my  scheme  of  crossing  the  ocean." 

I  could  not  help,  at  this  part  of  her  narration,  ex 
pressing  my  surprise  that  any  motives  were  strong  enough 
to  recommend  this  scheme. 

"It  was  certainly  a  freak  of  despair.  A  few  months 
would,  perhaps,  have  allayed  the  fresh  grief,  and  recon 
ciled  me  to  my  situation ;  but  I  would  not  pause  or  de 
liberate.  My  scheme  was  opposed  by  my  friends  with 
great  earnestness.  During  my  voyage,  affrighted  by 
the  dangers  which  surrounded  me,  and  to  which  I  was 
wholly  unused,  I  heartily  repented  of  my  resolution ; 
but  now,  methinks,  I  have  reason  to  rejoice  at  my  per 
severance.  I  have  come  into  a  scene  and  society  so  new, 
I  have  had  so  many  claims  made  upon  my  ingenuity 
and  fortitude,  that  my  mind  has  been  diverted  in  some 
degree  from  former  sorrows.  There  are  even  times  when 
I  wholly  forget  them,  and  catch  myself  indulging  in 
cheerful  reveries. 

"I  have  often  reflected  with  surprise  on  the  nature  of 
my  own  mind.  It  is  eight  years  since  my  father's  vio 
lent  death.  How  few  of  my  hours  since  that  period 
have  been  blessed  with  serenity !  How  many  nights  and 
days,  in  hateful  and  lingering  succession,  have  been 
bathed  in  tears  and  tormented  with  regrets!  That  I  am 
still  alive,  with  so  many  causes  of  death,  and  with  such 
a  slow-consuming  malady,  is  surely  to  be  wondered  at. 

"I  believe  the  worst  foes  of  man,  at  least  of  men  in 
grief,  are  solitude  and  idleness.  The  same  eternally- 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  2OQ 

occurring  round  of  objects  feeds  his  disease,  and  the 
effects  of  mere  vacancy  and  uniformity  are  sometimes 
mistaken  for  those  of  grief.  Yes,  I  am  glad  I  came  to 
America.  My  relations  are  importunate  for  my  return, 
and  till  lately  I  had  some  thoughts  of  it;  but  I  think 
now  I  shall  stay  where  I  am  for  the  rest  of  my  days. 

"  Since  I  arrived,  I  am  become  more  of  a  student  than 
I  used  to  be.  I  always  loved  literature,  but  never,  till 
of  late,  had  I  a  mind  enough  at  ease  to  read  with  ad 
vantage.  I  now  find  pleasure  in  the  occupation  which  I 
never  expected  to  find. 

"  You  see  in  what  manner  I  live.  The  letters  which 
I  brought  secured  me  a  flattering  reception  from  the  best 
people  in  your  country;  but  scenes  of  gay  resort  had 
nothing  to  attract  me,  and  I  quickly  withdrew  to  that 
seclusion  in  which  you  now  find  me.  Here,  always  at 
leisure,  and  mistress  of  every  laudable  means  of  gratifi 
cation,  I  am  not  without  the  belief  of  serene  days  yet 
to  come." 

I  now  ventured  to  inquire  what  were  her  latest  tidings 
of  her  husband. 

"At  the  opening  of  the  Revolution,  I  told  you,  he 
became  a  champion  of  the  people.  By  his  zeal  and  his 
efforts  he  acquired  such  importance  as  to  be  deputed  to 
the  National  Assembly.  In  this  post  he  was  the  ad 
herent  of  violent  measures,  till  the  subversion  of  mon 
archy;  and  then,  when  too  late  for  his  safety,  he 
checked  his  career." 

"And  what  has  since  become  of  him?" 

She  sighed  deeply.  "You  were  yesterday  reading  a 
list  of  the  proscribed  under  Robespierre.  I  checked 
you.  I  had  good  reason.  But  this  subject  grows  too 
painful;  let  us  change  it." 

Some  time  after,  I  ventured  to  renew  this  topic ;  and 
discovered  that  Fielding,  under  his  new  name  of  Perrin 
d'Ahnont,  was  among  the  outlawed  deputies  of  last 
year,*  and  had  been  slain  in  resisting  the  officers  sent  to 
arrest  him.  My  friend  had  been  informed  that  his  wife, 
Marguerite  d'Almont,  whom  she  had  reason  to  believe  a 

*  1793. 
14 


210  ARTHUR  MERVYN. 

woman  of  great  merit,  had  eluded  persecution,  and  taken 
refuge  in  some  part  of  America.  She  had  made  va 
rious  attempts,  but  in  vain,  to  find  out  her  retreat. 
"Ah!"  said  I,  "you  must  commission  me  to  find  her. 
I  will  hunt  her  through  the  continent  from  Penobscot  to 
Savannah.  I  will  not  leave  a  nook  unsearched." 


CHAPTER  XLVIL 

NONE  will  be  surprised  that,  to  a  woman  thus  unfor 
tunate  and  thus  deserving,  my  heart  willingly  rendered 
up  all  its  sympathies ;  that,  as  I  partook  of  all  her 
grief,  I  hailed,  with  equal  delight,  those  omens  of  felicity 
which  now,  at  length,  seemed  to  play  in  her  fancy. 

I  saw  her  often, — as  often  as  my  engagements  would 
permit,  and  oftener  than  I  allowed  myself  to  visit  any 
other.  In  this  I  was  partly  selfish.  So  much  enter 
tainment,  so  much  of  the  best  instruction,  did  her  con 
versation  afford  me,  that  I  never  had  enough  of  it. 

Her  experience  had  been  so  much  larger  than  mine, 
and  so  wholly  different,  and  she  possessed  such  unbounded 
facility  of  recounting  all  she  had  seen  and  felt,  and  ab 
solute  sincerity  and  unreserve  in  this  respect  were  so 
fully  established  between  us,  that  I  can  imagine  nothing 
equally  instructive  and  delightful  with  her  conversation. 

Books  are  cold,  jejune,  vexatious  in  their  sparingness 
of  information  at  one  time  and  their  impertinent  lo 
quacity  at  another.  Besides,  all  they  choose  to  give 
they  give  at  once ;  they  allow  no  questions,  offer  no  fur 
ther  explanations,  and  bend  not  to  the  caprices  of  our 
curiosity.  They  talk  to  us  behind  a  screen.  Their 
tone  is  lifeless  and  monotonous.  They  charm  not  our 
attention  by  mute  significances  of  gesture  and  looks. 
They  spread  no  light  upon  their  meaning  by  cadences 
and  emphasis  and  pause. 

How  different  was  Mrs.  Fielding's  discourse  !  So  ver 
satile;  so  bending  to  the  changes  of  the  occasion;  so 
obsequious  to  my  curiosity,  and  so  abundant  in  that  very 
knowledge  in  which  I  was  most  deficient,  and  on  which 
I  set  the  most  value,  the  knowledge  of  the  human  heart ; 

211 


212  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OK, 

of  society  as  it  existed  in  another  world,  more  abundant 
in  the  varieties  of  customs  and  characters,  than  I  had 
ever  had  the  power  to  witness. 

Partly  selfish  I  have  said  my  motives  were,  but  not 
so,  as  long  as  I  saw  that  my  friend  derived  pleasure,  in 
her  turn,  from  my  company.  Not  that  I  could  add 
directly  to  her  knowledge  or  pleasure,  but  that  expansion 
of  heart,  that  ease  of  utterance  and  flow  of  ideas  which 
always  were  occasioned  by  my  approach,  were  sources 
of  true  pleasure  of  which  she  had  been  long  deprived, 
and  for  which  her  privation  had  given  her  a  higher  relish 
than  ever. 

She  lived  in  great  affluence  and  independence,  but  made 
use  of  her  privileges  of  fortune  chiefly  to  secure  to  her 
self  the  command  of  her  own  time.  She  had  been  long 
ago  tired  and  disgusted  with  the  dull  and  fulsome  uni 
formity  and  parade  of  the  play-house  and  ballroom. 
Formal  visits  were  endured  as  mortifications  arid  penances, 
by  which  the  delights  of  privacy  and  friendly  intercourse 
were  by  contrast  increased.  Music  she  loved,  but  never 
sought  it  in  places  of  public  resort,  or  from  the  skill  of 
mercenary  performers;  and  books  were  not  the  least  of 
her  pleasures. 

As  to  me,  I  was  wax  in  her  hand.  Without  design 
and  without  effort,  I  was  always  of  that  form  she  wished 
me  to  assume.  My  own  happiness  became  a  secondary 
passion,  and  her  gratification  the  great  end  of  my  being. 
When  with  her,  I  thought  not  of  myself.  I  had  scarcely 
a  separate  or  independent  existence,  since  my  senses 
were  occupied  by  her,  and  my  mind  was  full  of  those 
ideas  which  her  discourse  communicated.  To  meditate 
on  her  looks  and  words,  and  to  pursue  the  means  sug 
gested  by  my  own  thoughts,  or  by  her,  conducive,  in  any 
way,  to  her  good,  was  all  my  business. 

"What  a  fate,"  said  I,  at  the  conclusion  of  one  of  our 
interviews,  "has  been  yours!  But,  thank  Hea-ven,  the 
storm  has  disappeared  before  the  age  of  sensibility  has 
gone  past,  and  without  drying  up  every  source  of  happi 
ness.  You  are  still  young  ;  all  your  powers  unimpaired  ; 
rich  in  the  compassion  and  esteem  of  the  world ;  wholly 
independent  of  the  claims  and  caprices  of  others ;  amply 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  f?<?j.  213 

supplied  with  that  means  of  usefulness,  called  money; 
wise  in  that  experience  which  only  adversity  can  give. 
Past  evils  and  sufferings,  if  incurred  and  endured  with 
out  guilt,  if  called  to  view  without  remorse,  make  up  the 
materials  of  present  joy.  They  cheer  our  most  dreary 
hours  with  the  widespread  accents  of  '  well  done,'  and 
they  heighten  our  pleasures  into  somewhat  of  celestial 
brilliancy,  by  furnishing  a  deep,  a  ruefully-deep,  contrast. 

"  From  this  moment,  I  will  cease  to  weep  for  you.  I 
will  call  you  the  happiest  of  women.  I  will  share  with 
you  your  happiness  by  witnessing  it ;  but  that  shall  not 
content  me.  I  must  some  way  contribute  to  it.  Tell 
me  how  I  shall  serve  you.  What  can  I  do  to  make  you 
happier?  Poor  am  I  in  every  thing  but  zeal,  but  still  I 
may  do  something.  What — pray  tell  me,  what  can  I 
do'?" 

She  looked  at  me  with  sweet  and  solemn  significance. 
What  it  was  exactly  I  could  not  divine,  yet  I  was  strangely 
affected  by  it.  It  was  but  a  glance,  instantly  withdrawn. 
She  made  me  no  answer. 

"You  must  not  be  silent;  you  must  tell  me  what  I 
can  do  for  you.  Hitherto  I  have  done  nothing.  All 
the  service  is  on  your  side.  Your  conversation  has  been 
my  study,  a  delightful  study,  but  the  profit  has  only  been 
mine.  Tell  me  how  I  can  be  grateful:  my  voice  and 
manner,  I  believe,  seldom  belie  my  feelings."  At  this 
time,  I  had  almost  done  what  a  second  thought  made  me 
suspect  to  be  unauthorized.  Yet  I  cannot  tell  why. 
My  heart  had  nothing  in  it  but  reverence  and  admiration. 
Was  she  not  the  substitute  of  my  lost  mamma?  Would 
I  not  have  clasped  that  beloved  shade?  Yet  the  two 
beings  were  not  just  the  same,  or  I  should  not,  as  now, 
have  checked  myself,  and  only  pressed  her  hand  to  my 
lips. 

"Tell  me,"  repeated  I,  "what  can  I  do  to  serve  you? 
I  read  to  you  a  little  now,  and  you  are  pleased  with  my 
reading.  I  copy  for  you  when  you  want  the  time.  I 
guide  the  reins  for  you  when  you  choose  to  ride.  Humble 
offices,  indeed,  though,  perhaps,  all  that  a  raw  youth  like 
me  can  do  for  you ;  but  I  can  be  still  more  assiduous.  I 


214  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

can  read  several  hours  in  the  day,  instead  of  one.  I  can 
write  ten  times  as  much  as  now. 

"Are  you  not  my  lost  mamma  come  back  again  ?  And 
yet,  not  exactly  her,  I  think.  Something  different; 
something  better,  I  believe,  if  that  be  possible.  At  any 
rate,  methinks  I  would  be  wholly  yours.  I  shall  be  im 
patient  and  uneasy  till  every  act,  every  thought,  every 
minute,  someway  does  you  good. 

"How!"  said  I,  (her  eye,  still  averted,  seemed  to  hold 
back  the  tear  with  difficulty,  and  she  made  a  motion  as 
if  to  rise,)  "  have  I  grieved  you  ?  Have  I  been  importu 
nate?  Forgive  me  if  I  have  offended  you." 

Her  eyes  now  overflowed  without  restraint.  She  arti 
culated,  with  difficulty,  "  Tears  are  too  prompt  with  me 
of  late ;  but  they  did  not  upbraid  you.  Pain  has  often 
caused  them  to  flow,  but  now  it — is — pleasure." 

"What  a  heart  must  yours  be!"  I  resumed.  "When 
susceptible  of  such  pleasures,  what  pangs  must  formerly 
have  rent  it! — But  you  are  not  displeased,  you  say,  with 
my  importunate  zeal.  You  will  accept  me  as  your  own 
in  every  thing.  Direct  me;  prescribe  to  me.  There 
must  be  something  in  which  I  can  be  of  still  more  use  to 
you;  some  way  in  which  I  can  be  wholly  yours " 

"Wholly  mine!'1  she  repeated,  in  a  smothered  voice, 
and  rising.  "  Leave  me,  Arthur.  It  is  too  late  for  you 
to  be  here.  It  was  wrong  to  stay  so  late." 

"  I  have  been  wrong ;  but  how  too  late  ?  I  entered 
but  this  moment.  It  is  twilight  still;  is  it  not?" 

"  No :  it  is  almost  twelve.  You  have  been  here  a  long 
four  hours;  short  ones  I  would  rather  say, — but  indeed 
you  must  go." 

"What  made  me  so  thoughtless  of  the  time?  But  I 
will  go,  yet  not  till  you  forgive  me."  I  approached  her 
with  a  confidence  and  for  a  purpose  at  which,  upon  re 
flection,  I  am  not  a  little  surprised  ;  but  the  being  called 
Mervyn  is  not  the  same  in  her  company  and  in  that  of 
another.  What  is  the  difference,  and  whence  comes  it? 
Her  words  and  looks  engross  me.  My  mind  wants  room 
for  any  other  object.  But  why  inquire  whence  the  differ 
ence  ?  The  superiority  of  her  merits  and  attractions  to 
all  those  whom  I  knew  would  surely  account  for  my 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  215 

fervour.  Indifference,  if  I  felt  it,  would  be  the  only 
just  occasion  of  wonder. 

The  hour  was,  indeed,  too  late,  and  I  hastened  home. 
Stevens  was  waiting  my  return  with  some  anxiety.  I 
apologized  for  my  delay,  and  recounted  to  him  what  had 
just  passed.  He  listened  with  more  than  usual  interest. 
When  I  had  finished, — 

"Mervyn,"  said  he,  "you  seem  not  be  aware  of  your 
present  situation.  From  what  you  now  tell  me,  and  from 
what  you  have  formerly  told  me,  one  thing  seems  very 
plain  to  me." 

"Pr'ythee,  what  is  it?" 

"Eliza  Hadwin: — do  you  wish — could  you  bear — to 
see  her  the  wife  of  another?" 

"Five  years  hence  I  will  answer  you.  Then  my 
answer  may  be,  'No;  I  wish  her  only  to  be  mine.'  Till 
then,  I  wish  her  only  to  be  my.  pupil,  my  ward,  my 
sister." 

"But  these  are  remote  considerations;  they  are  bars 
to  marriage,  but  not  to  love.  Would  it  not  molest  and 
disquiet  you  to  observe  in  her  a  passion  for  another?" 

"  It  would,  but  only  on  her  own  account ;  not  on  mine. 
At  a  suitable  age  it  is  very  likely  I  may  love  her,  because 
it  is  likely,  if  she  holds  on  in  her  present  career,  she 
will  then  be  worthy;  but  at  present,  though  I  would  die 
to  insure  her  happiness,  I  have  no  wish  to  insure  it  by 
marriage  with  her." 

"Is  there  no  other  whom  you  love?" 

"No.  There  is  one  worthier  than  all  others;  one 
whom  I  wish  the  woman  who  shall  be  my  wife  to  resemble 
in  all  things." 

"And  who  is  this  model?" 

"You  know  I  can  only  mean  Achsa  Fielding." 

"If  you  love  her  likeness,  why  not  love  herself?" 

I  felt  my  heart  leap. — "What  a  thought  is  that! 
Love  her  I  do  as  I  love  my  God ;  as  I  love  virtue.  To 
love  her  in  another  sense  would  brand  me  for  a  lunatic." 

"  To  love  her  as  a  woman,  then,  appears  to  you  an  act 
of  folly." 

"In  me  it  would  be  worse  than  folly.  'T would  be 
frenzy." 


2l6  ARTHUR   MERVYN;    OR, 

"And  why?" 

"Why?  Really,  my  friend,  you  astonish  me.  Nay, 
you  startle  me — for  a  question  like  that  implies  a  doubt 
m  you  whether  I  have  not  actually  harboured  the 
thought." 

"No,"  said  he,  smiling,  "presumptuous  though  you 
be,  you  have  not,  to-be-sure,  reached  so  high  a  pitch. 
But  still,  though  I  think  you  innocent  of  so  heinous  an 
offence,  there  is  no  harm  in  asking  why  you  might  not 
love  her,  and  even  seek  her  for  a  wife." 

Achsa  Fielding  wy  wife!  Good  Heaven! — The  very 
sound  threw  my  soul  into  unconquerable  tumults.  "Take 
care,  my  friend,"  continued  I,  in  beseeching  accents, 
"you  may  do  me  more  injury  than  you  conceive,  by  even 
starting  such  a  thought." 

"True,"  said  he,  "  as  long  as  such  obstacles  exist  to 
your  success ;  so  many  incurable  objections :  for  instance, 
she  is  six  years  older  than  you." 

"That  is  an  advantage.  Her  age  is  what  it  ought 
to  be." 

"But  she  has  been  a  wife  and  mother  already." 

"That  is  likewise  an  advantage.  She  has  wisdom, 
because  she  has  experience.  Her  sensibilities  are 
stronger,  because  they  have  been  exercised  and  chas 
tened.  Her  first  marriage  was  unfortunate.  The  purer 
is  the  felicity  she  will  taste  in  a  second  !  '  If  her  second 
choice  be  propitious,  the  greater  her  tenderness  and 
gratitude." 

"But  she  is  a  foreigner;  independent  of  control,  and 
rich." 

"All  which  are  blessings  to  herself,  and  to  him  for 
whom  her  hand  is  reserved;  especially  if,  like  me,  he  is 
indigent." 

"But  then  she  is  unsightly  as  a  night-hag,  tawny  as 
a  Moor,  the  eye  of  a  gipsy,  low  in  stature,  contemptibly 
diminutive,  scarcely  bulk  enough  to  cast  a  shadow  as 
she  walks,  less  luxuriance  than  a  charred  log,  fewer 
elasticities  than  a  sheet  pebble." 

"Hush!  hush!  blasphemer!" — (and  I  put  my  hand 
before  his  mouth) — "  have  I  not  told  you  that  in  mind, 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  '793.  2 1/ 

person,  and  condition,  she  is  the  type  after  which  my 
enamoured  fancy  has  modelled  my  wife  ?" 

"  Oh  ho  !  Then  the  objection  does  not  lie  with  you. 
It  lies  with  her,  it  seems.  She  can  find  nothing  in  you 
to  esteem  !  And,  pray,  for  what  faults  do  you  think  she 
would  reject  you  ?" 

"I  cannot  tell.  That  she  can  ever  balance  for  a  mo 
ment,  on  such  a  question,  is  incredible.  Me  !  me  !  That 
Achsa  Fielding  should  think  of  me !" 

"  Incredible,  indeed  !  You,  who  are  loathsome  in 
your  person,  an  idiot  in  your  understanding,  a  villain  in 
your  morals !  deformed !  withered !  vain,  stupid,  and 
malignant.  That  such  a  one  should  choose  you  for  an 
idol !" 

"Pray,  my  friend,"  said  I,  anxiously,  "jest  not. 
What  mean  you  by  a  hint  of  this  kind  ?" 

"I  will  not  jest,  then,  but  will  soberly  inquire,  what 
faults  are  they  which  make  this  lady's  choice  of  you  so 
incredible  ?  You  are  younger  than  she,  though  no  one, 
who  merely  observed  your  manners  and  heard  you  talk, 
would  take  you  to  be  under  thirty.  You  are  poor:  are 
these  impediments  ?" 

"  I  should  think  not.  I  have  heard  her  reason  with 
admirable  eloquence  against  the  vain  distinctions  of  pro 
perty  and  nation  and  rank.  They  were  once  of  moment 
in  her  eyes;  but  the  sufferings,  humiliations,  and  reflec 
tions  of  years  have  cured  her  of  the  folly.  Her  nation 
has  suffered  too  much  by  the  inhuman  antipathies  of 
religious  and  political  faction;  she,  herself,  has  felt  so 
often  the  contumelies  of  the  rich,  the  high-born,  and  the 
bigoted,  that " 

"Pr'ythee,  then,  what  dost  imagine  her  objections 
to  be?" 

"Why — I  don't  know.  The  thought  was  so  aspiring; 
to  call  her  my  wife  was  a  height  of  bliss  the  very  far- 
off  view  of  which  made  my  head  dizzy." 

"  A  height,  however,  to  attain  which  you  suppose  only 
her  consent,  her  love,  to  be  necessary?" 

"Without  doubt,  her  love  is  indispensable." 

"Sit  down,  Arthur,  and  let  us  no  longer  treat  this 
matter  lightly.  I  clearly  see  the  importance  of  this 


2l8  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

moment  to  this  lady's  happiness  and  yours.  It  is  plain 
that  you  love  this  woman.  How  could  you  help  it  ?  A 
brilliant  skin  is  not  hers ;  nor  elegant  proportions ;  nor 
majestic  stature:  yet  no  creature  had  ever  more  power 
to  bewitch.  Her  manners  have  grace  and  dignity  that 
flow  from  exquisite  feelings,  delicate  taste,  and  the 
quickest  and  keenest  penetration.  She  has  the  wisdom 
of  men  and  of  books.  Her  sympathies  are  enforced  by 
reason,  and  her  chanties  regulated  by  knowledge.  She 
has  a  woman's  age,  fortune  more  than  you  wish,  and  a 
spotless  fame.  How  could  you  fail  to  love  her  ? 

"You,  who  are  her  chosen  friend,  who  partake  her 
pleasures  and  share  her  employments,  on  whom  she 
almost  exclusively  bestows  her  society  and  confidence, 
and  to  whom  she  thus  affords  the  strongest  of  all  indi 
rect  proofs  of  impassioned  esteem,  —  how  could  you, 
with  all  that  firmness  of  love,  joined  with  all  that  dis 
cernment  of  her  excellence,  how  could  you  escape  the 
enchantment  ? 

"You  have  not  thought  of  marriage.  You  have  not 
suspected  your  love.  From  the  purity  of  your  mind, 
from  the  idolatry  with  which  this  woman  has  inspired 
you,  you  have  imagined  no  delight  beyond  that  of  en 
joying  her  society  as  you  now  do,  and  have  never  fos 
tered  a  hope  beyond  this  privilege. 

"How  quickly  would  this  tranquillity  vanish,  and  the 
true  state  of  your  heart  be  evinced,  if  a  rival  should 
enter  the  scene  and  be  entertained  with  preference !  then 
would  the  seal  be  removed,  the  spell  be  broken,  and  you 
would  awaken  to  terror  and  to  anguish. 

"  Of  this,  however,  there  is  no  danger.  Your  passion 
is  not  felt  by  you  alone.  From  her  treatment  of  you, 
your  diffidence  disables  you  from  seeing,  but  nothing 
can  be  clearer  to  me  than  that  she  loves  you." 

I  started  on  my  feet.  A  flush  of  scorching  heat 
flowed  to  every  part  of  my  frame.  My  temples  began 
to  throb  like  my  heart.  I  was  half  delirious,  and  my 
delirium  was  strangely  compounded  of  fear  and  hope,  of 
delight  and  of  terror. 

"What  have  you  done,  my  friend?     You  have  over- 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  2\g 

turned  my  peace  of  mind.  Till  now  the  image  of  this 
woman  has  been  followed  by  complacency  and  sober 
rapture;  but  your  words  have  dashed  the  scene  with 
dismay  and  confusion.  You  have  raised  up  wishes,  and 
dreams,  and  doubts,  which  possess  me  in  spite  of  my 
reason,  in  spite  of  a  thousand  proofs. 

"Good  God!  You  say  she  loves, — loves  me! — me, 
a  boy  in  age ;  bred  in  clownish  ignorance ;  scarcely 
ushered  into  the  world ;  more  than  childishly  unlearned 
and  raw;  a  barndoor  simpleton;  a  plough-tail,  kitchen- 
hearth,  turnip-hoeing  novice!  She,  thus  splendidly 
endowed;  thus  allied  to  nobles;  thus  gifted  with  arts, 
and  adorned  with  graces ;  that  she  should  choose  me,  me 
for  the  partner  of  her  fortune  ;  her  affections ;  and  her 
life!  It  cannot  be.  Yet,  if  it  were;  if  your  guesses 
should — prove — Oaf!  madman!  To  indulge  so  fatal  a 
chimera  !  So  rash  a  dream ! 

"My  friend!  my  friend!  I  feel  that  you  have  done 
me  an  irreparable  injury.  I  can  never  more  look  her  in 
the  face.  I  can  never  more  frequent  her  society.  These 
new  thoughts  will  beset  and  torment  me.  My  disquiet 
will  chain  up  my  tongue.  That  overflowing  gratitude; 
that  innocent  joy,  unconscious  of  offence,  and  knowing 
no  restraint,  which  have  hitherto  been  my  titles  to  her 
favour,  will  fly  from  my  features  and  manners.  I  shall 
be  anxious,  vacant,  and  unhappy  in  her  presence.  I 
shall  dread  to  look  at  her,  or  to  open  my  lips,  lest  my 
mad  and  unhallowed  ambition  should  betray  itself." 

"Well,"  replied  Stevens,  "this  scene  is  quite  new.  I 
could  almost  find  it  in  my  heart  to  pity  you.  I  did  not 
expect  this ;  and  yet,  from  my  knowledge  of  your  cha 
racter,  I  ought,  perhaps,  to  have  foreseen  it.  This  is  a 
necessary  part  of  the  drama.  A  joyous  certainty,  on 
these  occasions,  must  always  be  preceded  by  suspenses 
and  doubts,  and  the  close  will  be  joyous  in  proportion  as 
the  preludes  are  excruciating.  Go  to  bed,  my  good 
friend,  and  think  of  this.  Time  and  a  few  more  inter 
views  with  Mrs.  Fielding  will,  I  doubt  not,  set  all  to 
rights."  • 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

I  WENT  to  my  chamber,  but  what  different  sensations 
did  I  carry  into  it  from  those  with  which  I  had  left  it  a 
few  hours  before  !  I  stretched  myself  on  the  mattress 
and  put  out  the  light ;  but  the  swarm  of  new  images  that 
rushed  on  my  mind  set  me  again  instantly  in  motion. 
All  was  rapid,  vague,  and  undefined,  wearying  and  dis 
tracting  my  attention.  I  was  roused  as  by  a  divine 
voice,  that  said,  "  Sleep  no  more  !  Mervyn  shall  sleep 
no  more." 

What  chiefly  occupied  me  was  a  nameless  sort  of  ter 
ror.  What  shall  I  compare  it  to  ?  Methinks,  that  one 
falling  from  a  tree  overhanging  a  torrent,  plunged  into 
the  whirling  eddy,  and  gasping  and  struggling  while  he 
sinks  to  rise  no  more,  would  feel  just  as  I  did  then. 
Nay,  some  such  image  actually  possessed  me.  Such  was 
one  of  my  reveries,  in  which  suddenly  I  stretched  my 
hand,  and  caught  the  arm  of  a  chair.  This  act  called 
me  back  to  reason,  or  rather  gave  my  soul  opportunity 
to  roam  into  a  new  track  equally  wild. 

Was  it  the  abruptness  of  this  vision  that  thus  con 
founded  me  ?  was  it  a  latent  error  in  my  moral  constitu 
tion,  which  this  new  conjuncture  drew  forth  into  in 
fluence  ?  These  were  all  the  tokens  of  a  mind  lost  to 
itself;  bewildered;  unhinged;  plunged  into  a  drear 
insanity. 

Nothing  less  could  have  prompted  so  fantastically; 
for,  midnight  as  it  was,  my  chamber's  solitude  was  not 
to  be  supported.  After  a  few  turns  across  the  floor,  I 
left  the  room,  and  the  house.  I  walked  without  design 
and  in  a  hurried  pace.  I  posted  straight  to  the  house 
220 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  221 

of  Mrs.  Fielding.  I  lifted  the  latch,  but  the  door  did 
not  open.  It  was,  no  doubt,  locked. 

"  How  comes  this  ?"  said  I,  and  looked  around  me. 
The  hour  and  occasion  were  unthought  of.  Habituated 
to  this  path,  I  had  taken  it  spontaneously.  "How 
comes  this?"  repeated  I.  "Locked  upon  me!  but  I 
will  summon  them,  I  warrant  me," — and  rung  the  bell, 
not  timidly  or  slightly,  but  with  violence.  Some  one 
hastened  from  above.  I  saw  the  glimmer  of  a  candle 
through  the  keyhole. 

"Strange."  thought  I;  "a  candle  at  noonday!" — 
The  door  was  opened,  and  my  poor  Bess,  robed  in  a 
careless  and  hasty  manner,  appeared.  She  started  at 
sight  of  me,  but  merely  because  she  did  not,  in  a  mo 
ment,  recognise  me. — "  Ah  !  Arthur,  is  it  you  ?  Come 
in.  My  mamma  has  wanted  you  these  two  hours.  I  was 
just  going  to  despatch  Philip  to  tell  you  to  come." 

"Lead  me  to  her,"  said  I. 

She  led  the  way  into  the  parlour. — "Wait  a  moment 
here;  I  will  tell  her  you  are  come;" — and  she  tripped 
away. 

Preiently  a  step  was  heard.  The  door  opened  again, 
and  then  entered  a  man.  He  was  tall,  elegant,  sedate 
to  a  degree  of  sadness  ;  something  in  his  dress  and  aspect 
that  bespoke  the  foreigner,  the  Frenchman. 

"What,"  said  he,  mildly,  "is  your  business  with  my 
wife  ?  She  cannot  see  you  instantly,  and  has  sent  me 
to  receive  your  commands." 

"Your  wife!    I  want  Mrs.  Fielding." 

"  True  ;  and  Mrs.  Fielding  is  my  wife.  Thank  Heaven, 
I  have  come  in  time  to  discover  her,  and  claim  her  as 
such." 

I  started  back.  I  shuddered.  My  joints  slackened, 
and  I  stretched  my  hand  to  catch  something  by  which  I 
might  be  saved  from  sinking  on  the  floor.  Meanwhile, 
Fielding  changed  his  countenance  into  rage  and  fury. 
He  called  me  villain !  bade  me  avaunt !  and  drew  a 
shining  steel  from  his  bosom,  with  which  he  stabbed  me 
to  the  heart.  I  sunk  upon  the  floor,  and  all,  for  a  time, 
was  darkness  and  oblivion  !  At  length,  I  returned  as 
it  were  to  life.  I  opened  my  eyes.  The  mists  disap- 


222  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

peared,  and  I  found  myself  stretched  upon  the  bed  in 
my  own  chamber.  I  remembered  the  fatal  blow  I  had 
received.  I  put  my  hand  upon  my  breast ;  the  spot 
where  the  dagger  entered.  There  were  no  traces  of  a 
wound.  All  was  perfect  and  entire.  Some  miracle  had 
made  me  whole. 

I  raised  myself  up.  I  re-examined  my  body.  All 
around  me  was  hushed,  till  a  voice  from  the  pavement 
below  proclaimed  that  it  was  "past  three  o'clock." 

"What!"  said  I;  "has  all  this  miserable  pageantry, 
this  midnight  wandering,  and  this  ominous  interview, 
been  no  more  than — a  dream?" 

It  may  be  proper  to  mention,  in  explanation  of  this 
scene,  and  to  show  the  thorough  perturbation  of  my 
mind  during  this  night,  intelligence  gained  some  days 
after  from  Eliza.  She  said,  that  about  two  o'clock,  on 
this  night,  she  was  roused  by  a  violent  ringing  of  the 
bell.  She  was  startled  by  so  unseasonable  a  summons. 
She  slept  in  a  chamber  adjoining  Mrs.  Fielding's,  and 
hesitated  whether  she  should  alarm  her  friend ;  but, 
the  summons  not  being  repeated,  she  had  determined  to 
forbear. 

Added  to  this,  was  the  report  of  Mrs.  Stevens,  who, 
on  the  same  night,  about  half  an  hour  after  I  and  her 
husband  had  retired,  imagined  that  she  heard  the  street 
door  opened  and  shut ;  but,  this  being  followed  by  no 
other  consequence,  she  supposed  herself  mistaken.  I 
have  little  doubt  that,  in  my  feverish  and  troubled  sleep, 
I  actually  went  forth,  posted  to  the  house  of  Mrs.  Field 
ing,  rung  for  admission,  and  shortly  after  returned  to 
my  own  apartment. 

This  confusion  of  mind  was  somewhat  allayed  by  the 
return  of  light.  It  gave  way  to  more  uniform  but  not 
less  rueful  and  despondent  perceptions.  The  image  of 
Achsa  filled  my  fancy,  but  it  was  the  harbinger  of 
nothing  but  humiliation  and  sorrow.  To  outroot  the 
conviction  of  my  own  unworthiness,  to  persuade  myself 
that  I  was  regarded  with  the  tenderness  that  Stevens 
had  ascribed  to  her,  that  the  discovery  of  my  thoughts 
would  not  excite  her  anger  and  grief,  I  felt  to  be  iin 
possible. 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR   1793.  22$ 

In  this  state  of  mind,  I  could  not  see  her.  To  declare 
my  feelings  would  produce  indignation  and  anguish ;  to 
hide  them  from  her  scrutiny  was  not  in  my  power ;  yet, 
what  would  she  think  of  my  estranging  myself  from  her 
society  ?  What  expedient  could  I  honestly  adopt  to 
justify  my  absence,  and  what  employments  could  I  sub 
stitute  for  those  precious  hours  hitherto  devoted  to  her  ? 

"This  afternoon,"  thought  I,  "she  has  been  invited 
to  spend  at  Stedman's  country-house  on  Schuylkill. 
She  consented  to  go,  and  I  was  to  accompany  her.  I 
am  fit  only  for  solitude.  My  behaviour,  in  her  presence, 
will  be  enigmatical,  capricious,  and  morose.  I  must  not 
go :  yet  what  will  she  think  of  my  failure  ?  Not  to  go 
will  be  injurious  and  suspicious." 

I  was  undetermined.  The  appointed  hour  arrived.  I 
stood  at  my  chamber-window,  torn  by  a  variety  of  pur 
poses,  and  swayed  alternately  by  repugnant  arguments. 
I  several  times  went  to  the  door  of  my  apartment,  and 
put  my  foot  upon  the  first  step  of  the  staircase,  but  as 
often  paused,  reconsidered,  and  returned  to  my  room. 

In  these  fluctuations  the  hour  passed  No  messenger 
arrived  from  Mrs.  Fielding,  inquiring  into  the  cause  of 
my  delay.  Was  she  offended  at  my  negligence  ?  Was 
she  sick  and  disabled  from  going,  or  had  she  changed 
her  mind  ?  I  now  remembered  her  parting  words  at  our 
last  interview.  Were  they  not  susceptible  of  two  con 
structions  ?  She  said  my  visit  was  too  long,  and  bade 
me  begone.  Did  she  suspect  my  presumption,  and  is 
she  determined  thus  to  punish  me  ? 

This  terror  added  anew  to  all  my  former  anxieties. 
It  was  impossible  to  rest  in  this  suspense.  I  would  go 
to  her ;  I  would  lay  before  her  all  the  anguish  of  my 
heart ;  I  would  not  spare  myself.  She  shall  not  reproach 
me  more  severely  than  I  will  reproach  myself.  I  will 
hear  my  sentence  from  her  own  lips,  and  promise  un 
limited  submission  to  the  doom  of  separation  and  exile 
which  she  will  pronounce. 

I  -went  forth  to  her  house.  The  drawing-room  and 
summer-house  were  empty.  I  summoned  Philip  the  foot 
man  :  his  mistress  was  gone  to  Mr.  Stedman's. 

"How? — To  Stedman's? — In  whose  company?" 


::_:  ARTHUR  MERVYX  ;    OX, 


Stedman  and  her  brother  called  for  her  in  the 
carriage,  and  persuaded  her  to  go  with  them." 

Now  my  heart  sunk,  indeed  !  Miss  Stedman's  brothfr! 
A  youth,  forward,  gallant,  and  gay  !  Flushed  with  pros 
perity,  and  just  returned  from  Europe,  with  all  the  con 
fidence  of  age,  and  all  the  ornaments  of  education  !  She 
has  gone  with  him,  though  pre-engaged  to  me  !  Poor 
Arthur,  how  art  thou  despised  ! 

This  information  only  heightened  my  impatience.  I 
went  away,  but  returned  in  the  evening.  I  waited  till 
eleven,  but  she  came  not  back.  I  cannot  justly  paint 
the  interval  that  passed  till  next  morning.  It  was  void 
of  steep.  On  leaving  her  house,  I  wandered  into  the 
fields.  Every  moment  increased  my  impatience.  "  She 
will  probably  spend  the  morrow  at  Stedman's,"  said  I, 
"  and  possibly  the  next  day.  Why  should  I  wait  for  her 
return  ?  Why  not  seek  her  there,  and  rid  myself  at 
once  of  this  agonizing  suspense  ?  Why  not  go  thither 
now?  This  night,  wherever  I  spend  it,  will  be  unac 
quainted  with  repose.  I  will  go  ;  it  is  already  near 
twelve,  and  the  distance  is  more  than  eight  miles.  I 
will  hover  near  the  house  till  morning,  and  then,  as 
early  as  possible,  demand  an  interview." 

I  was  well  acquainted  with  Stedman's  villa,  having 
formerly  been  there  with  Mrs.  Fielding.  I  quickly  en 
tered  its  precincts,  I  went  close  to  the  house  ;  looked 
mournfully  at  every  window.  At  one  of  them  a  light 
was  to  be  seen,  and  I  took  various  stations  to  discover, 
if  possible,  the  persons  within.  Methought  once  I  caught 
a  glimpse  of  a  female,  whom  my  fancy  easily  imagined 
to  be  Achsa.  I  sat  down  upon  the  lawn,  some  hundred 
feet  from  the  house,  and  opposite  the  window  whence  the 
light  proceeded.  I  watched  it,  till  at  length  some  one 
came  to  the  window,  lifted  it,  and,  leaning  on  her  arms, 
continued  to  look  out. 

The  preceding  day  had  been  a  very  sultry  one  :  the 
night,  as  usual  after  such  a  day  and  the  fall  of  a  violent 
shower,  was  delightfully  serene  and  plea.*ant.  Where  I 
stood  was  enlightened  by  the  moon.  Whether  she  saw 
me  or  not,  I  could  hardly  tell,  or  whether  she  distinguished 
any  thing  but  a  human  figure. 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  f?9J.  22$ 

Without  reflecting  on  what  was  due  to  decorum  and 
punctilio,  I  immediately  drew  near  the  house.  I  quickly 
perceived  that  her  attention  was  fixed.  Neither  of  us 
spoke,  till  I  had  placed  myself  directly  under  her;  I 
then  opened  my  lips,  without  knowing  in  what  manner 
to  address  her.  She  spoke  first,  and  in  a  startled  and 
anxious  voice: — 

"Who  is  that?" 

"Arthur  Mervyn;  he  that  was  two  days  ago  your 
friend^" 

44  Mervyn !  What  is  it  that  brings  you  here  at  this 
hour?  What  is  the  matter?  What  has  happened?  Is 
anybody  sick?" 

"All  is  safe ;  all  are  in  good  health.** 

"What  then  do  you  come  hither  for  at  such  an  hour?" 

" 1  meant  not  to  disturb  you ;  I  meant  not  to  be  seen." 

44  Good  heavens !  How  you  frighten  me !  What  can 
be  the  reason  of  so  strange " 

"  Be  not  alarmed.  I  meant  to  hover  near  the  house 
till  morning,  that  I  might  see  you  as  early  as  possible." 

44 For  what  purpose?" 

"  I  will  tell  you  when  we  meet,  and  let  that  be  at  five 
o'clock;  the  sun  will  then  be  risen;  in  the  cedar-grove 
under  the  bank;  till  when,  farewell." 

Having  said  this,  I  prevented  all  expostulation,  by 
turning  the  angle  of  the  house,  and  hastening  towards 
the  shore  of  the  river.  I  roved  about  the  grove  that  I 
have  mentioned.  In  one  part  of  it  is  a  rustic  seat  and 
table,  shrouded  by  trees  and  shrubs,  and  an  intervening 
eminence,  from  the  view  of  those  in  the  house.  This  I 
designed  to  be  the  closing  scene  of  my  destiny. 

Presently  I  left  this  spot,  and  wandered  upward  through 
embarrassed  and  obscure  paths,  starting  forward  or  check 
ing  my  pace,  according  as  my  wayward  meditations 
governed  me.  Shall  I  describe  my  thoughts  ?  Impossible ! 
It  was  certainly  a  temporary  loss  of  reason;  nothing 
less  than  madness  could  lead  into  such  devious  tracks, 
drag  me  down  to  so  hopeless,  helpless,  panicful  a  depth, 
and  drag  me  down  so  suddenly ;  lay  waste,  as  at  a  sig 
nal,  all  my  flourishing  structures,  and  reduce  them  in  a 
moment  to  a  scene  of  confusion  and  horror. 
15 


226  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

What  did  I  fear?  What  did  I  hope?  What  did  I 
design  ?  I  cannot  tell ;  my  glooms  were  to  retire  with 
the  night.  The  point  to  which  every  tumultuous  feeling 
•was  linked  was  the  coming  interview  with  Achsa.  That 
was  the  boundary  of  fluctuation  and  suspense.  Here 
was  the  sealing  and  ratification  of  my  doom. 

I  rent  a  passage  through  the  thicket,  and  struggled 
upward  till  I  reached  the  edge  of  a  considerable  preci 
pice;  I  laid  me  down  at  my  length  upon  the  rock,  whose 
cold  and  hard  surface  I  pressed  with  my  bared  and 
throbbing  breast.  I  leaned  over  the  edge;  fixed  my 
eyes  upon  the  water  and  wept — plentifully ;  but  why  ? 

May  this  be  my  heart's  last  beat,  if  I  can  tell 
why? 

I  had  wandered  so  far  from  Stedman's,  that,  when 
roused  by  the  light,  I  had  some  miles  to  walk  before  I 
could  reach  the  place  of  meeting.  Achsa  was  already 
there.  I  slid  down  the  rock  above,  and  appeared  before 
her.  Well  might  she  be  startled  at  my  wild  and  abrupt 
appearance. 

I  placed  myself,  without  uttering  a  word,  upon  a  seat 
opposite  to  her,  the  table  between,  and,  crossing  my 
arms  upon  the  table,  leaned  my  head  upon  them,  while 
my  face  was  turned  towards  and  my  eyes  fixed  upon 
hers.  I  seemed  to  have  lost  the  power  and  the  inclination 
to  speak. 

She  regarded  me,  at  first,  with  anxious  curiosity ;  after 
examining  my  looks,  every  emotion  was  swallowed  up  in 
terrified  sorrow.  "For  God's  sake! — what  does  all  this 
mean?  Why  am  I  called  to  this  place?  What  tidings, 
what  fearful  tidings,  do  you  bring?" 

I  did  not  change  my  posture  or  speak.  "What,"  she 
resumed,  "could  inspire  all  this  woe?  Keep  me  not  in 
this  suspense,  Arthur ;  these  looks  and  this  silence  shock 
and  afflict  me  too  much." 

"Afflict  you?"  said  I,  at  last;  "I  come  to  tell  you 

what,  now  that  I  am  here,  I  cannot  tell "  There  I 

stopped. 

"  Say  what,  I  entreat  you.  You  seem  to  be  very  un 
happy — such  a  change — from  yesterday!" 

"Yes!  From  yesterday;  all  then  was  a  joyous  calm, 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  22? 

and  now  all  is — but  then  I  knew  not  my  infamy,  my 
guilt " 

"What  words  are  these,  and  from  you,  Arthur?  Guilt 
is  to  you  impossible.  If  purity  is  to  be  found  on  earth, 
it  is  lodged  in  your  heart.  What  have  you  done  ?" 

"  I  have  dared — how  little  you  expect  the  extent  of 
my  daring !  That  such  as  I  should  look  upwards  with 
this  ambition." 

I  stood  up,  and  taking  her  hands  in  mine,  as  she  sat, 
looked  earnestly  in  her  face : — "  I  come  only  to  beseech 
your  pardon.  To  tell  you  my  crime,  and  then  disappear 
forever ;  but  first  let  me  see  if  there  be  any  omen  of 
forgiveness.  Your  looks — they  are  kind;  heavenly; 
compassionate  still.  I  will  trust  them,  I  believe;  and 
yet"  (letting  go  her  hands,  and  turning  away)  "this 
offence  is  beyond  the  reach  even  of  your  mercy." 

"  How  beyond  measure  these  words  and  this  deport 
ment  distress  me !  Let  me  know  the  worst ;  I  cannot 
bear  to  be  thus  perplexed." 

"Why,"  said  I,  turning  quickly  round  and  again 
taking  her  hands,  "  that  Mervyn,  whom  you  have  honoured 
and  confided  in,  and  blessed  with  your  sweet  regards, 
has  been " 

"What  has  he  been?  Divinely  amiable,  heroic  in  his 
virtue,  I  am  sure.  What  else  has  he  been?" 

"This  Mervyn  has  imagined,  has  dared — will  you 
forgive  him?" 

"Forgive  you  what?  Why  don't  you  speak?  Keep 
not  my  soul  in  this  suspense." 

"He  has  dared — But  do  not  think  that  I  am  he. 
Continue  to  look  as  now,  and  reserve  your  killing  glances, 

the  vengeance  of  those  eyes,  as  for  one  that  is  absent. 

Why,  what  —  you  weep,  then,  at  last.  That  is  a  pro 
pitious  sign.  When  pity  drops  from  the  eyes  of  our 
judge,  then  should  the  suppliant  approach.  Now,  in 
confidence  of  pardon,  I  will  tell  you;  this  Mervyn,  not 
content  with  all  you  have  hitherto  granted  him,  has 
dared — to  love  you ;  nay,  to  think  of  you  as  of  his  wife  !" 

Her  eye  sunk  beneath  mine,  and,  disengaging  her 
hands,  she  covered  her  face  with  them. 

"I  see  my  fate,"  said  I,  in  a  tone  of  despair.     "Too 


228  ARTHUR  MERVYN;    OR, 

well  did  I  predict  the  effect  of  this  confession ;  but  I  will 
go — and  unforgiven." 

She  now  partly  uncovered  her  face.  The  hand  was 
withdrawn  from  her  cheek,  and  stretched  towards  me. 
She  looked  at  me. 

"Arthur!  I  do  forgive  thee." — With  what  accents 
was  this  uttered !  With  what  looks !  The  cheek  that 
was  before  pale  with  terror  was  now  crimsoned  over  by  a 
different  emotion,  and  delight  swam  in  her  eye. 

Could  I  mistake?  My  doubts,  my  new-born  fears, 
made  me  tremble  while  I  took  the  offered  hand. 

"Surely,"  faltered  I,  "I  am  not — I  cannot  be — so 
blessed." 

There  was  no  need  of  words.  The  hand  that  I  held 
was  sufficiently  eloquent.  She  was  still  silent. 

"Surely,"  said  I,  "my  senses  deceive  me.  A  bliss 
like  this  cannot  be  reserved  for  me.  Tell  me  once  more 
— set  my  doubting  heart  at  rest." 

She  now  gave  herself  to  my  arms: — "I  have  not 
words — Let  your  own  heart  tell  you,  you  have  made 
your  Achsa " 

At  this  moment,  a  voice  from  without  (it  was  Miss 
Stedman's)  called,  " Mrs. Fielding !  where  are  you?" 

My  friend  started  up,  and,  in  a  hasty  voice,  bade  me 
begone.  "You  must  not  be  seen  by  this  giddy  girl. 
Come  hither  this  evening,  as  if  by  my  appointment,  and 
I  will  return  with  you." — She  left  me  in  a  kind  of  trance. 
I  was  immovable.  My  reverie  was  too  delicious; — but 
let  me  not  attempt  the  picture.  If  I  can  convey  no 
image  of  my  state  previous  to  this  interview,  my  subse 
quent  feelings  are  still  more  beyond  the  reach  of  my 
powers  to  describe. 

Agreeably  to  the  commands  of  my  mistress,  I  hastened 
away,  evading  paths  which  might  expose  me  to  observa 
tion.  I  speedily  made  my  friends  partake  of  my  joy, 
and  passed  the  day  in  a  state  of  solemn  but  confused 
rapture.  I  did  not  accurately  portray  the  various  parts 
of  my  felicity.  The  whole  rushed  upon  my  HOU!  at  once. 
My  conceptions  were  too  rapid  and  too  comprehensive  to 
be  distinct. 

I  went  to  Stedman's  in  the  evening.     I  found  in  the 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE    YEAR  1793.  2  29 

accents  and  looks  of  my  Achsa  new  assurances  that  all 
which  had  lately  passed  was  more  than  a  dream.  She 
made  excuses  for  leaving  the  Stedmans  sooner  than  ordi 
nary,  and  was  accompanied  to  the  city  by  her  friend. 
We  dropped  Mrs.  Fielding  at  her  own  house,  and  thither, 
after  accompanying  Miss  Stedman  to  her  own  home,  I 
returned  upon  the  wings  of  tremulous  impatience. 

Now  could  I  repeat  every  word  of  every  conversation 
that  has  since  taken  place  between  us ;  but  why  should 
I  do  that  on  paper  ?  Indeed,  it  could  not  be  done.  All 
is  of  equal  value,  and  all  could  not  be  comprised  but  in 
many  volumes.  There  needs  nothing  more  deeply  to 
imprint  it  on  my  memory ;  and,  while  thus  reviewing 
the  past,  I  should  be  iniquitously  neglecting  the  present. 
What  is  given  to  the  pen  would  be  taken  from  her ;  and 
that,  indeed,  would  be — but  no  need  of  saying  what  it 
would  be,  since  it  is  impossible. 

I  merely  write  to  allay  these  tumults  which  our  neces 
sary  separation  produces ;  to  aid  me  in  calling  up  a  little 
patience  till  the  time  arrives  when  our  persons,  like  our 
minds,  shall  be  united  forever.  That  time — may  nothing 
happen  to  prevent — but  nothing  can  happen.  But  why 
this  ominous  misgiving  just  now  ?  My  love  has  infected 
me  with  these  unworthy  terrors,  for  she  has  them  too. 

This  morning  I  was  relating  my  dream  to  her.  She 
started,  and  grew  pale.  A  sad  silence  ensued  the  cheer 
fulness  that  had  reigned  before: — "Why  thus  dejected, 
my  friend?" 

"  I  hate  your  dream.  It  is  a  horrid  thought.  Would 
to  God  it  had  never  occurred  to  you !" 

"Why,  surely,  you  place  no  confidence  in  dreams?" 

"  I  know  not  where  to  place  confidence ;  not  in  my 
present  promises  of  joy," — and  she  wept.  I  endeavoured 
to  soothe  or  console  her.  Why,  I  asked,  did  she  weep  ? 

"My  heart  is  sore.  Former  disappointments  were  so 
heavy ;  the  hopes  which  were  blasted  were  so  like  my 
present  ones,  that  the  dread  of  a  like  result  will  intrude 
upon  my  thoughts.  And  now  your  dream  !  Indeed,  I 
know  not  what  to  do.  I  believe  I  ought  still  to  retract — 
ought,  at  least,  to  postpone  an  act  so  irrevocable." 

Now  was  I  obliged  again  to  go  over  my  catalogue  of 


230  ARTHUR  MERVYN. 

arguments  to  induce  her  to  confirm  her  propitious  reso 
lution  to  be  mine  within  the  week.  I,  at  last,  succeeded, 
even  in  restoring  her  serenity,  and  beguiling  her  fears 
by  dwelling  on  our  future  happiness. 

Our.  household,  while  we  stayed  in  America, — in  a 
year  or  two  we  hie  to  Europe, — should  be  thus  com 
posed.  Fidelity,  and  skill,  and  pure  morals,  should  be 
sought  out,  and  enticed,  by  generous  recompenses,  into 
our  domestic  service.  Duties  which  should  be  light  and 
regular. — Such  and  such  should  be  our  amusements  and 
employments  abroad  and  at  home :  and  would  not  this 
be  true  happiness  ? 

"Oh  yes — if  it  may  be  so." 

"  It  shall  be  so ;  but  this  is  but  the  humble  outline  of 
the  scene ;  something  is  still  to  be  added  to  complete 
our  felicity." 

"What  more  can  be  added?" 

"  What  more  ?  Can  Achsa  ask  what  more  ?  She 
who  has  not  been  only  a  wife " 

But  why  am  I  indulging  this  pen-prattle  ?  The  hour 
she  fixed  for  my  return  to  her  is  come,  and  now  take 
thyself  away,  quill.  Lie  there,  snug  in  thy  leathern 
case,  till  I  call  for  thee,  and  that  will  not  be  very  soon. 
I  believe  I  will  abjure  thy  company  till  all  is  settled 
with  my  love.  Yes  ;  I  will  abjure  thee  ;  so  let  this  be 
thy  last  office,  till  Mervyn  has  been  made  the  happiest 
of  men. 


THE    END. 


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